AX1 Journey to Each Other
by KennaC
Summary: Some journeys are worthwhile, no matter how painful. Prequel to "Falling in Love with a Lie." Full summary inside.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Hopefully these section breaks are not removed when uploaded into FF. Sorry for the confusion.

This is a precursor story to _Falling in Love with a Lie_, where HM Murdock first meets Sydney Wilson (aka Sheila Downey). Of course, that, along with _Shuai-Jan Sprouts Wings_ are both histories related to _Fatal Recall_ so as you can tell this 'series' of stories is coming to me totally out of sequence.

Anyway – here is the next installment of the group of stories that I have dubbed _Decent Into Darkness_, though as I write that it occurs to me that it's rather melodramatic. This particular story came to me, like much of the rest of this 'series' in odd flashes over the course of a year or so. Over the last few weeks I have pulled together all of the pieces and filled in the gaps. I've tried to keep it consistent with the historical timeline that I sketched in _Fatal Recall_ but there are some deviations – I imagine when I'm done, I will have to revisit that story to make it consistent with these 'histories.'

I've been absent from the A-Team universe for awhile, though I continue to read out here when time permits. As always, I don't own any of the canon characters, though the OC's are all mine, for better or worse. I make no money from this :(

I hope you enjoy! And in keeping with the obsessive rhyming habits of Captain Murdock: _If you do - please review!_

**Journey to Each Other: Part 1**

A tall, lanky youth with wavy brown hair framing an expressive face stared down at an old man lying in a simple oak coffin. Large, brown eyes, tight with grief, seemed unable to look away, as if by staring at the old man he could will his eyes to open again.

There were striking similarities between the features of the two men, obvious even though time had deeply lined the elder. The younger wasn't far behind – he had seen far too much death in his 16 years. His mother, his grandmother and now his grandfather. HM Murdock was officially alone in the world.

A large, work-hardened hand gripped HM's shoulder, and the wiry man attached to it physically shook him out of his stupor.

"How're ya holdin' up, HM?"

He looked up at the man and a smile tried to make an appearance on his face. Even the slight motion felt wrong. "'K. When'd ya get back, Randy?"

Randy Pratt ran a small local air field near Spur, where HM's grandparents had moved about two years ago, after his grandmother had gotten too weak to keep up the large old farm house on the ranch. His grandfather had announced that they were going to give up the rural Texas life and move 'into town.' At the time, HM had been less than thrilled, but once he met Randy his opinion changed. Always fascinated by airplane and helicopter design, Randy had been the one who introduced HM to his true love – flying.

"Just last night, kid. I'm sorry I was gone. I thought your gramps was getting better."

"He had a massive heart attack. There was nothin' they could do."

HM had been thinking a lot about what could strike down his seemingly-indestructible grandfather in the scant three months since his grandmother had succumbed to cancer. He had known his grandparents loved one another – it was obvious any time they were within sight of each other – but even he hadn't realized the depth of their bond. Tears threatened.

"Personally, I think Gramps just didn't wanna live without Gram."

Randy's arm circled HM's shoulders and for the first time in three days, the youth allowed himself to let go and cry. He was glad that there weren't any other mourners there to see him fall apart. In fact, there hadn't been many mourners period, and those that had come were mostly traveling from out of town to pay their respects.

His grandparents had never really integrated into the Spur community. When they moved to town, his grandmother was already weak with the cancer that was slowly invading all the systems in her tiny body. He remembered a time when, even at barely five foot, his grandmother could intimidate the roughest ranch hand. It was difficult to watch her go down-hill, but he admired the fact that she chose to go on her own terms. His mother had fought a three-year battle with cancer, including intensive chemotherapy and debilitating surgeries that ruined the quality of her life up until the bitter end. His grandmother chose not to go through that.

Getting a grip on the raw edges of his emotions, he drew himself up, out of Randy's awkward embrace and looked back down at the shell of his grandfather.

"_I'm sorry, HM. I don't want to leave you alone. But I can't go on without your grandmother. I'm too weak."_

Those words echoed through the last few desperate moments of his grandfather's life. Clutching his chest on the kitchen floor, Gramps' eyes had been full of regret and anxiety, but not for himself. HM had known, even as he reached for the phone to call the ambulance, that his grandfather's concern for his welfare wouldn't be enough to hold him on this earth.

He gripped the side of the casket and leaned down to reassure his grandfather, "I'll be alright, Gramps. You taught me good."

HM turned and headed for the doors. Calling hours were over. Tomorrow they were having a simple graveside service to bury his grandfather next to his grandmother. It was time for HM Murdock to get on with his life.

Randy caught up to him.

"Do you need a place to stay, HM? I could set you up on the couch in my bachelor pad. It ain't much, but you're welcome to it."

"I've been placed with the Millers, Randy."

"Clive and Marny?"

HM turned and looked at his friend. "Yeah. You know 'em?"

Randy nodded. "Clive's not a bad guy – a little gruff, but not a bad guy. And Marny's nice enough. I've done crop dusting for 'em in the past."

"Well, being a minor, and therefore a ward of the state, I guess I ought to go where they tell me."

"Do you need a ride out to the Miller farm?"

"Naw. I got Gramp's old beater truck running again, so I got a ride."

"HM." Randy stopped him on the porch of the funeral home with a hand on his shoulder, and looked into his eyes intently. "You know, if you need anything, and I do mean anything, you just give me a call. Ok?"

HM managed a genuine smile this time. "Thanks, Randy. I really appreciate it."

But as he got into his truck a few minutes later, HM couldn't help but think that it was time to buck up and take control of his life. For too long circumstances beyond his control had blown him through life like a tumbleweed. No more. Another favorite saying of his grandfather's played in his mind:

"_Feeling sorry for yourself ain't gonna get you nowhere in life, HM. Put your head down and bull forward, son."_

And if HM had inherited nothing else from his grandfather, he had definitely gotten his bull-headed stubbornness.

SSS

"Sydney Lynn Wilson, what is going on?"

Syd looked up to find her petite and pretty mother standing at the top of the flight of stairs leading to their apartment in Chicago, Illinois. The shocked look on her mother's face was enough to cool the rage that had been controlling her actions up to this point. She looked down at the instigator of the rage. Will Ramey lie on the hallway floor, blood pouring from between his fingers as he looked up at her with a mixture of anger and fear. Syd felt her lips curl in a sneer at the young man she had started seeing a scant two weeks ago.

She had thought Will was different. Soft-spoken, and among the more intelligent young men at her current high school, Will exuded a quiet confidence that Syd found herself drawn to. She had been flattered when he had started walking her home every day after school, always the complete gentleman. Today, the only difference had been that her mother wasn't home when they arrived at the apartment. Apparently, Will had taken that as an opportunity, and the last few minutes with him had confirmed her steadfast opinion that boys, and by extension men, were all the same, and after only one thing.

Her mother must have processed the scene, and spoke in a low, worried voice, "Sydney, are you ok? What did this boy do to you?"

Syd gave Will a swift kick as he attempted to scoot away from her so he could pull himself up from the floor.

"I suspect not nearly as much as he would have liked," she snarled, hands knotted in tight fists.

Her mother hurried forward and stopped Syd's advance on the boy.

Will gave her a wide berth as he headed for the stairs. "You little bitch. You think you can get away with this? You are in for it, Wilson. Just wait until after school on Monday."

A fresh wave of anger surged Sydney forward to lean over the rail, her words following Will as he ran down the stairs and out of the building. "Try it, Ramey! Just try it you cowardly son of a bitch!"

She felt her mother's hands on her shoulders, pulling her back into a warm, comforting embrace.

"It's alright, baby. It's over. Come on, let's go inside."

Her mother sat her down at the kitchen bar that served as a dining area in the tiny apartment. She moved purposely about the kitchen, getting Sydney and herself a glass of iced tea and a plateful of crackers and cheese. She was silent until she took a seat next to Sydney.

"Alright, Sydney. Spill. What happened with Will? I thought he was a nice young man?"

"So did I, Mom. Apparently we were both mistaken. When he realized you weren't home today, he decided the time was perfect to force himself on me – even after I told him 'no.'"

The flash of abject fear in her mother's bright blue eyes was fleeting, but unmistakable.

"What happened? Should we take you to the emergency room?"

To give herself time to come up with a response, Sydney drained her glass and stood to get a refill. It had been nearly four years since her mother had asked her such a question. Her answer at the time had been a slobbery 'yes.' Her mother had held her while the doctor tended her wounds and the responding police officer questioned her. There had been little sympathy for the young girl in the mini-skirt and tank top. In those clothes, the two men seemed to think she had been 'asking for it' – even if they didn't say it in so many words.

That had been the end of it. Her mother had immediately moved them to a new neighborhood, and Sydney had learned, at the tender age of twelve, how to cope with the trauma of being raped.

Her self-prescribed therapy had been to learn all there was to know about martial arts. Because they couldn't afford formal lessons, she had become a regular at the library, checking out every book related to self-defense, and practicing the various moves on the roof of their new building. Her mother had even joined her periodically, and encouraged her efforts. After all, the neighborhood they had moved to was only marginally safer than the one they had vacated.

"Sydney? Please, baby, answer me."

There was a slight edge of panic to the voice now, and Sydney made sure to school her features, that looked so much like her mother's, into an expression of calm assurance as she moved to rejoin her at the bar.

"I'm fine, Mom. He didn't get the chance to do anything. I pushed him out into the hall and flattened him as soon as it became apparent he didn't know the meaning of the word 'no.'"

Her mother chuckled, and Sydney joined her.

"That's my girl!" Her mother stood and wrapped her in a warm hug. "I'm so proud of the young woman you've become, Sydney."

"You tell me that all the time," Sydney replied, voice muffled in her mother's shoulder.

"Well, I wouldn't want you to forget," her mother said, holding her out at arms length and looking at her searchingly, her gaze still worried despite the levity of her words. "Should we move, baby? It sounded like Will was going to make trouble for you on Monday. I know Maddy would let us stay at her place for a bit until we find a new one of our own. And I could get the school transfer done Monday without any trouble. I'm getting pretty good at it."

Sydney shook her head. "I graduate in a month, Mom. I'm not moving to a new high school this close to the end. I'll be fine. I can handle Will Ramey."

"If you're certain, baby. I just don't want you to get hurt."

"I won't let him hurt me, Mom."

HHH

"Time for mornin' chores, boy."

HM winced as the overhead light was flipped on by Clive Miller, his new foster father. Glancing over at the clock he noted that it was before five in the morning. He figured he hadn't slept more than an hour, two tops. His mind just wouldn't shut down. Luckily, the cows didn't care.

Three hours later, he and Clive were wrapping up morning chores. HM took a quick shower to get the worst of the stink off before heading into school.

One more month to graduation, and then what? The idea of spending the next month milking cows was depressing, but couldn't be avoided. Beyond that, HM figured what he did with is life was up to him – even if he was legally a minor. That was an issue he was going to have to research.

These thoughts had rolled around in his head all night last night, all through chores, and continued to nag at the youth as he got in his truck and headed in to school. The plan he had developed while his grandfather was alive was no longer tenable. He had to come up with some way to move up his time-frame. The service was his best bet now, though there was still the possibility of a scholarship from Texas A&M.

He needed a contingency, though. College wasn't cheap, and after selling the ranch and buying a house in Spur, followed by paying for his grandmother's increasingly-expensive medical care, there was nothing left of the money his grandparents had. Even the house had been mortgaged to the hilt, and had reverted to the bank once his grandfather passed. If he didn't get a full-ride scholarship, college was likely a pipe dream.

The Air Force Academy appealed to him, but there were other problems there.

_Put your head down and bull forward, son._

With a determined smile, HM headed into the school to his locker. No matter the obstacles, he was going to make a future for himself that didn't include working like a slave on the Miller's dairy farm the rest of his life.

AAA

Alicia Wilson sat outside the local public high school waiting for her daughter on Monday afternoon. She had left her secretarial job early so she could make it to pick up Sydney at the school rather than allowing her to walk home, as she usually did. Despite her daughter's assurances, Alicia was concerned about her safety. Will Ramey's threat had echoed through her nightmares all weekend, and she wasn't taking any chances on the boy getting a chance to carry them out.

She heard the bell ring and watched as teenagers started trickling out of the school. She spied Will Ramey, along with a group of half a dozen young men, walk through the front door, and slide into a nearby alley – right along the path that Sydney would be likely to take to head home. It seemed to confirm her worst fears. And while she knew Sydney was more than capable of defending herself against one fresh boy, she doubted her daughter was prepared to take on an entire gang of vengeful young thugs.

She waited. And waited. Crowds in front of the high school thinned, and finally disappeared. It had been nearly half an hour since anyone had come out of the front doors, and still Alicia had not seen her daughter. Had she missed her exit? It was possible, but not probable. Glancing back toward the alley where Ramey and his friends had disappeared, she saw that they still waited, watching the front doors of the school almost as anxiously as she was. Alicia gave a relieved sigh. If Syd had slipped past her, then she had obviously slipped past those hooligans, too.

Nearly an hour later, Alicia was relieved to see Ramey and his friends apparently abandon their vigil. She watched as they dispersed, and decided that perhaps it was safe, even if Syd was still in the school, to head home and start supper.

The tantalizing smell of garlic greeted Alicia as she walked into the apartment, where she found Sydney sitting at the coffee table in the living room doing homework.

"Did you make supper?"

"Yes."

"It smells delicious."

"Why are you so late, Mom?"

"I . . . I stopped by the school to pick you up. I must have missed you."

Syd's full lips curved into a knowing smile. "Mom, I told you I would be fine."

"I know, but I was worried. I saw Will Ramey and his friends. I think they were waiting for you, baby."

"They were. Ramey isn't real subtle. I don't know what made me think he was a nice, quiet guy."

Alicia couldn't tell if her daughter's derogatory tone was self-directed, or aimed at Ramey. She sat down on the couch, and looked at Syd curiously.

"So, how did you get home?"

Syd shrugged. "I just took a different route than usual."

"Baby, I can pick you up after school."

"We can't afford for you to leave work even half an hour early to pick me up, Mom. You and I both know that. You barely make it home before me most days as it is and you're coming from the opposite direction."

Alicia chewed her lip. Knowing her daughter was right didn't make it any easier to accept.

She felt Sydney's hand on her knee, and looked down into the wide-set, clear blue eyes of her only child. Sydney was the most important thing in her life, and the thought that she couldn't always protect her nagged at Alicia almost constantly.

"I talked to Mr. Julio today, and told him what happened. He let me hang around his office after the bell rang, and then escorted me out the back of the school and made sure the coast was clear before letting me walk home. I was perfectly safe. He said he would talk to the principal tomorrow about the problem. I just need to make it through the next few weeks, anyway. I'll be fine, Mom."

Alicia watched as her baby girl bent back over her school work. The truth was that Sydney hadn't needed her to take care of things for some time. She worked part time in the evenings and on weekends, to help make household ends meet. She kept her grades high enough that she already qualified for several scholarships to college. Sydney knew how to handle herself in nearly any situation. In fact, Alicia figured she was likely more reliant on her daughter, than her daughter was on her.

She smoothed a hand over Sydney's shoulder-length honey-gold hair. "I know you'll be fine, baby. You always have been."

HHH

HM grinned at the woman behind the desk of the Spur High School office in Texas.

"I just need a copy of my transcripts, ma'am."

"Name?" She was a severe looking woman with a sharp nose, and dark hair pulled back in a tight bun. If anything, her frown deepened at the cheerful expression of the teenager in front of her.

"Murdock, ma'am, HM Murdock."

"I need your _full_ name, young man."

"That is my full name, ma'am. HM Murdock."

"Surely the H and M stand for something."

"No, ma'am."

Eyebrows arched over stern eyes. "Harumph. Do you have identification?"

He pushed his driver's license toward her. She looked at it, looked at him, then pushed the license back to him.

"Graduation year 1966?"

"I just graduated, ma'am. 1964."

Her eyebrows flew even higher, as she snatched back his driver's license. "You're only 16."

"Yes, ma'am."

She pushed the license back at him again, and turned to the filing cabinet, her gaze conveying that she intended to prove him a liar. HM just grinned and shook his head. He picked up his license and slid it into the back pocket of his jeans, then pulled it back out and switched pockets when he remembered that one was half-ripped off.

As the woman opened the middle drawer of the far filing cabinet, HM paid careful attention to where she extracted his file. She seemed surprised to find it in with the current graduating class, and began flipping pages. HM grimaced – he didn't want her looking too closely, or remembering this particular request too plainly.

He cleared his throat. "Did ya find it, ma'am?"

"Yes, yes," she said, snapping the file shut, HM's well-timed query halting her scrutiny of the file details. She walked to the xerox machine and made a copy of the transcript. Out of a nearby drawer she took an official-looking embosser and crimped it on a corner of the copy. She replaced the embosser, then replaced the file, and finally returned to the desk. "There you are, young man. That will be twenty cents."

HM dug into his pocket and pulled out a handful of miscellany – a few coins, truck keys, a toy airplane, a bazooka wrapper with a funny joke, and his grandfather's pocket watch. He dumped it all on the desk, extracted the watch and shoved it back into his pocket, then picked a couple of coins out of the remaining junk, pushing them across the desk.

"Thank you much, ma'am."

He scooped up the remainder and shoved it back into his pocket, picked up the photocopy and strolled out of the office and down the hall toward the front door of the high school. He hoped the office lady wouldn't remember him – particularly the fact that he was only 16. It was because of his grandfather that he had graduated so young. The memory brought a smile to his face as he recalled, about two years ago, when he enrolled in the high school in Spur.

Because of his truancy record at his old rural school, they had insisted on placement testing, but it had backfired on them. Despite being the age of a freshman, he had tested into the high school as a junior. His grandfather had fought with the principal, and forced them to place him according the testing rather than his age. His grandfather had been a stubborn old codger, and 'right proud' of his 'advanced' grandson.

HM pushed through the doors of the school and out into the sunshine. He walked down the steps, and sauntered across the yard and past the corner of the building, sharp brown eyes scanning the windows that lined the offices of the school behind the tall chain link fence. He had walked through those front doors for the last time but he would have to go into the building once more – the large window at the far end of the office should afford fairly easy entry, and was out of sight of the main road, though it's proximity to the side street made him a little anxious. It would have to do.

He took a deep breath and headed toward his old pickup, parked at the front curb. He would come back tonight to take care of that little project. It should be easy enough . . . in and out . . . piece of cake.

RRR

Randy Pratt walked into the office at the air field, causing the kid sitting behind the desk to jump. Randy caught a glimpse of the official looking document the Murdock boy was working on, just before he pulled a couple flight plans over the paper to hide it. He dropped into a visitor's chair, a worried frown creasing his leathery forehead. HM had been getting more and more secretive since graduation.

As HM's mentor, Randy had a huge soft spot for the odd, intelligent young man; and he worried about him now that his family was gone. He had overheard Clive Miller grousing about how the kid had graduated at 16. Randy knew he was likely pissed because he had thought when he got the 16-year-old he would get at least couple years of work out of him before he took off on his own.

Randy mustered a smile for the lanky youth. "I figured you'd be in the air by now, HM. Did you get your errands run?"

"Yeah, yeah, I got 'em done."

"Good. Did you check with that family court judge about that thing . . . "

"Emancipation. Don't need to talk to the judge. Looked it up at the library."

"You spend almost as much time at that library as you do in the air, kid."

HM acknowledged that with a shrug. "Got my acceptance at A&M."

Randy sat forward. "I knew you would, kid! Congrats!"

But HM was shaking his head. "No scholarship, though. Can't afford it, Randy. I'm thinking the Air Force Academy is my best bet. What do you think?"

"HM, whatever you put your mind to you're gonna do it. Your Gram and Gramp would be proud." Randy sat forward and fixed his young friend with an earnest gaze. "And if there's ever anything you need, just say the word."

HHH

HM nodded thoughtfully as his long fingers tapped on the papers covering his transcript. He didn't mention to Randy that part of his problem was that the AFA wouldn't take him if they knew he was only 16. He had been studying the transcript he just got at the school office, and working out what modifications were needed to the document. He didn't want to be screwing around with it tonight in the office. He wanted to get in, finish the modifications and get out. Fifteen minutes, tops – that was all he wanted to spend in the office – less if at all possible. That would take care of one problem.

Looking up at the wiry, balding man, HM considered the offer of help. After all, he really could use it. Randy was the closest thing to a father HM had ever known, besides his Gramps. His own biological father had been absent more often than not during most of HM's younger days, and finally one day just never returned. Like most of the people in his life, HM figured Randy would abandon him eventually. But while he was standing here and offering there was no harm in accepting a favor.

"Do you know your congressman, Randy?"

"Sure I do. We grew up together."

"Think he'd do me a favor?"

"What kinda favor, HM?"

"Well, I need a nomination to the Air Force Academy. I started my application process, but I kinda need to . . . move things up a little. I have my SAT scores and I have an updated application almost ready to send in, but I really need a nomination."

"Done. I'll give Buck a call."

"Thanks a million, Randy. That will be a huge help."

Randy smiled. "I gotta watch out for my best student. You belong at the Academy, kid. No doubt in my mind."

HM smiled at him. "That means a lot to me, Randy. It really does."

SSS

"I told you I had a surprise!" Sydney grinned at her mother. She had been working diligently with Mr. Julio, the guidance counselor to run the budgets and consider all of the options. Different local universities had different types and levels of financial assistance, and it had taken some time to weigh all the possibilities and decide, but now that she had come to a decision, she felt like she was walking on cloud nine. For the first time in her life, Sydney was able to take charge and go the direction she chose.

"You want me to sign this?"

Syd was stymied by the dismayed expression on her mother's face. Maybe she hadn't understood. She would finally be rid of her burden of a daughter, and be able to live her own life. Her mother had always talked of traveling, but being a single mother had prevented her from following her dreams. Now she could.

"It's the last thing I need to allow me to live in my _own_ apartment and go to school. I'm already registered for summer classes and I think I've found the perfect little efficiency just off campus that will fit into my budget. I start my work-study job next week, and I'd like to get moved in before then. But since I'm underage, they want a parent's signature. Oh, and you'll need to cosign on my apartment lease, but that's not a big deal. Isn't it great, Mom? You'll be able to travel now that you don't have to worry about taking care of me."

AAA

Alicia looked at her daughter and tried to keep the surprise out of her voice. "I never worried about taking care of you, baby. I do worry _about_ you though. You're only 16. That's far too young for you to be living on your own."

The joy in Syd's face disappeared as she looked at her mother in shock. "Mom, I am perfectly capable of living on my own."

But am I? Alicia grimaced at the unbidden thought that flitted through her mind.

Syd continued in an even, logical tone, "I have been working part time since I was old enough to push a broom, and I know how to budget – I've been paying the bills for our household for the last couple years."

Alicia winced as Sydney gripped her arms, her expression earnest. "Mom, don't you see that this is your chance to do the things you've always talked about. Go out west and find a job working in the national forests, or travel around the country picking up odd jobs and seeing the sights. You can do that now that you won't be burdened with me. I can take care of myself."

Alicia nodded, and forced her lips to curve up, though the smile felt foreign. "Of course, baby. You've always been able to take care of yourself. Just give me a minute."

Walking the short distance to the bathroom, Alicia stepped in and closed the door. The antacid bottle was still sitting out from when she had used it earlier. She opened it and dropped the last two tablets into her hand and popped them into her mouth.

Back out at the kitchen bar, she sat down and began to carefully read the document that Sydney wanted her to sign. Her stomach churned, and the smell of the supper that Syd was cooking made her feel like she was going to vomit. She signed her name at the bottom of the form, uncertain what she had just read but eager to make her daughter happy.

"There you go, baby. Now, I'm going to lie down for a bit."

"I just about have supper ready, Mom."

She shook her head as her bile rose. "I have a headache, and my stomach is a bit off, baby. I think I'll skip supper."

Syd put a hand on her shoulder, her worried face swimming in Alicia's line of sight. "Are you alright, Mom? You look kinda green."

"I'm just coming down with a flu bug or something, baby. Just let me go sleep it off."

What Alicia didn't tell her daughter was that these bouts of the flu bug had been coming with a regularity that worried her. She wondered sometimes if she wasn't pregnant again. She had been sick as a dog all through her pregnancy with Sydney, with no one around to help her out.

Sydney had been worth it though.

HHH

HM finished milking the last cow, hauled the bucket of milk to the cooled holding tank, and then proceeded to clean the milking parlor. He was just as glad that Clive had headed up to the house early. His foster father wasn't usually the best company anyway, and he'd get the cleanup done faster without the large, pokey man underfoot.

By the time he was finished the parlor was spotless, the sinks and floors washed down, and the milking buckets cleaned and sitting on the drainer. He picked up the bottles of colostrum for the calves and headed back to the calf holding pen. They only had half a dozen new heifers at the moment, so the feeding wouldn't take long.

The calves started bleating as soon as they saw him coming, crowding around the feeder holders, all anxious for their bottle. He placed five bottles into the holders, but the sixth he took to the gate. Inside the enclosure he found Daisy. She had been a sickly little calf that he had been paying special attention to, unbeknownst to Clive.

When she was born ahead of her time, Clive had told him to take Daisy out back and shoot her, but HM just couldn't bring himself to do it. She just needed a little extra attention. She was looking better already, and he had high hopes that by the time Clive realized HM hadn't done what he was told, she'd be surpassing her sisters.

"Hey there li'l Daisy May. How ya doin' today sweetheart?" He scratched the little calf's velvety ears as she hungrily slurped at the bottle he held out for her. The first few days he had been forced to drench her, but she was finally taking the bottle on her own, and he knew she was putting on weight.

As soon as Daisy was done with her bottle, he gathered all the empty bottles into the carrier. He did a quick cleanup of the pen, and then spread some fresh hay for the calves to bed down on. He took half a bale and set up an extra comfy spot for Daisy back in the corner of the pen, out of sight of the main aisle, leading the little calf back there and getting her settled before heading back up to the parlor.

It only took him a few minutes to clean the bottles, after which he made a beeline for the house. Marny, Clive's wife, always made sure to set aside a big plate of food for him for when he was done with chores, and he was starving.

The kitchen was dark when he walked in, dirty dishes stacked neatly next to the sink.

"HM, your meal is in the oven. When you're done eating, please wash the dishes," Marny called from the sitting room.

"Ok." HM pulled the warm plate out of the oven and sat down to eat his meal of meat loaf with mashed potatoes and peas, alone. Marny and Clive, while not the most loving people in the world, did try to at least keep him comfortable. He didn't figure he had a whole lot to complain about. At least he had a roof over his head. Things could be a lot worse.

Done eating, he cleared his dishes, downed a tall glass of milk that was half cream, and then set about cleaning the kitchen. By the time everything was back in its place it was nearly ten o'clock, and HM headed up the back stairs, calling out to no one in particular, "G'night."

In the sitting room he could hear Clive and Marny snore in response.

He waited until he heard his foster parents head to bed, sometime around eleven. An hour later, they were snoring in unison, now from their back bedroom. HM slipped out of bed, fully clothed, and shimmied down the tree outside his window. He had parked the truck behind the machine shed when he came to the farm earlier, knowing that it was far enough away from the house that Clive and Marny wouldn't be awakened by the sound of it starting.

He drove into town, down a side street a couple blocks from the school. He turned the truck off and sat on the dark street contemplating what he was about to do. He wasn't thrilled about the idea of breaking the law, but it wasn't like he was doing it to hurt someone, or to steal something. Besides, he didn't really see where he had a whole lot of choice - unless he wanted to work the Miller's farm for the next two years until he was officially old enough to join the Academy. He took a deep bracing breath, and got out of the truck, closing the door quietly, just in case anyone along the sleepy Spur street was a light sleeper. He pulled a dark knit cap over his head, shrugged into a dark jacket, and loped down the street.

At the back of the school, he chose a dark corner to climb over the fence, dropping lightly on the other side. He found the window he had spied earlier, cracked open to let in the relatively-cooler evening air. He pried the window open slowly, and pushed the screen out. Once inside, he hurried to the file drawer he had watched the secretary pull his records out of.

The light from the window wasn't enough to work by, and he finally had to admit he was going to have to pull out the penlight he had brought. He kept his ears alert for any sound on the road. He would have to douse the light if anyone came along, because the office was easily visible from the road, and the penlight would be a sure give-away.

File in hand, he found white-out in a drawer under a type writer, and worked quickly to make the modifications needed to the paperwork in his official file. Back at the cabinet, he re-filed his materials where they belonged.

In short order he was slipping back out the window. He felt a moment of panic when he couldn't get the screen pulled back into place, but finally the bottom clicked in and he was able to drop to the scorched lawn – just in time to have a pair of headlights swipe across the building, showing him in stark relief against the school wall. He dropped to the ground, and lay there panting, praying that the driver of the car hadn't noticed, and apparently they hadn't. Less than twenty minutes since parking his truck, he was getting back in to return to the Miller farm.

Mission accomplished.

SSS

"Mom, you don't need to do that."

Sydney rolled her eyes as she spoke to her mother, snatching the washrag out of her hands as she began to wipe the counters for at least the third time. Sydney had been patient as her mother fussed and helped her find a spot for her meager possessions in her new apartment, but now that everything was put away, she really wanted her mother to leave. She wanted to bask in the victory of really being on her own.

Syd felt a broad smile split her face. She was on her own. She was in her own place, making her own money, and continuing her own education so she could start her career. The future was laid out in neat order in Syd's head, and she was ready to set her feet on the path.

Her mother's embrace caught her by surprise, but not as much as the tears that glistened in the sky-blue eyes. "Oh, baby, I'm just so proud of you, I feel like I could burst. And I can't tell you how lonely the apartment is going to feel tonight."

Taking a deep breath, Sydney changed her mind about her mother's company. "You helped me stock the pantry. Let me make you supper."

Her mother shook her head. "No, I'm not hungry. Besides, I should get going and let you get settled in your new place."

"What do you mean you aren't hungry? You barely touched your lunch, and I know that all you had for breakfast was a pot of coffee."

Her mother shrugged as she picked up her purse, and headed for the door. "I just haven't been very hungry, lately. I think it's probably just nerves. Too many changes for this old lady. Give me time to adjust, baby."

Sydney gave her mother a kiss goodbye and watched as she made her way down the hall to the staircase. Was it her imagination or did her already petite mother look even thinner than usual?

Shaking off the nagging worry, Syd closed the door, walked into her apartment, and sat down on her couch.

She was on her way.

HHH

HM looked at his handiwork on his driver's license and a smug smile curved his full lips. Clive and Marny had gone into town while he did morning chores, so he had rushed through so he could get his last little project done. He had just finished modifying his driver's license so that it matched his modified transcripts.

He knew somewhere there was likely a birth certificate that showed the truth, but since he'd been birthed by a midwife, he figured the records would be difficult to track down. In fact he was kind of counting on it. He had the copy of the birth record that his mother had kept, and that had been easy enough to fix. He was doubly glad he had had the foresight to make the changes to the birth certificate before sending in for his social security card. For the most part, his official records should show that HM Murdock was 18 years old.

He jumped up and returned the iron, typewriter, and ink pen to their rightful places, grabbed the file of 'official' papers, and headed to the air field. He wanted to finish up the application and get it in the mail today.

He hurried out the door and was pulling out of the drive just as Marny and Clive returned from their trip. He wanted to prod Randy about getting that nomination for him, and he hoped to get at least a couple hours of flying in before he had to return for the evening chores.

RRR

Randy looked up as HM strolled into the air field office, whistling an airy tune, and looking like he hadn't a care in the world. Randy hated the fact that he was going to have to burst the kid's bubble, but after talking to Buck earlier today, he knew he had to tell HM that the Air Force Academy wasn't a possibility – at least not for another couple years.

"HM, I'm glad you came in today –"

"Got some work for me, Randy?" HM grinned at him. Despite the kid's infectious smile, Randy grimaced.

"I got some bad news, HM." Randy felt his heart sink into his toes at the worried look that wiped the smile off HM's face.

"What's wrong?"

"I talked to Buck today about the nomination, HM. Did you know that you gotta be 18 to apply to the Air Force Academy? I'm sorry, kid, but I'm afraid you got a couple more years of life on the farm before you can do that. Maybe you could get a college loan and still go to A&M."

HM dropped into the chair across the desk from Randy, his gaze impassive. "Nobody's gonna loan _me_ money without a cosigner."

"You know, HM, I got a little money saved. It could get you started at A&M. I know you're good for it. And I'd be willing to cosign on a loan for you –"

"I'm not takin' yer money, Randy. I'm applying to the Academy."

"But HM, you ain't 18. Weren't you listening to me?"

"What did you tell Buck Williams?"

Randy considered the resolute, almost hard look on the young face of his protégé. HM looked far older than his 16 years at that moment. The expression gave Randy a chill.

"I told him I had a student prodigy that graduated at 16 and needed a nomination to the Academy. Buck shut me down right then and there – said Academy applicants had to be 18."

"Did ya tell him the prodigy's name?"

Randy's brows furrowed. "No, I don't believe I mentioned it."

HM tapped the folder in his hand on his leg, then leaned across the desk and slapped it open in front of Randy. "Call him back and tell him you have another student, 18 years of age that needs a nomination."

Randy scanned the documents in front of him and shook his head in disbelief. "You don't honestly think you're gonna get away with this, do you, HM?"

The kid gave an unamused snort. "Like anybody really cares. They need flyboys over in 'Nam. Do _you _really think anybody is going to dig into my past that closely to make sure I'm really 18 when I have documents that show I am? Do _you_ think anybody really gives a damn about what happens to me?"

Randy felt his jaw tighten involuntarily. It just wasn't right that a good kid like HM should feel that way, but it was understandable.

He gave HM a probing stare. "I give a damn about what happens to you, HM. Are you sure this is what you want to do? Vietnam is getting uglier by the day. Do you have any idea what you'll be walking into out there?"

Sitting back, Randy considered his young friend seriously. HM was tall and gangly, and he could probably pass for 18. Randy figured he was as mature as any 18-year-old boy he had ever met.

HM shrugged. "Three squares and a bed to sleep in. It can't be all that bad. And I'll get to fly. That's all I really want anyway, Randy."

Randy considered the determination evident in the intelligent brown eyes that shown at him out of a face far too young to be so burdened. He leaned forward, and nodded. "I'll call Buck and get the nomination, kid. I just hope to hell you know what you're doin'."

HHH

Life fell into a mind-numbing routine. Each day, HM woke early, did morning chores, helped with other work until lunch, ate and hurried out to spend a couple hours at the airfield. He lived for the time he got to spend in the air. Then it was back to the farm for more work, and then evening chores.

On this particular day, HM got back from the airfield in time to see Clive leading the vet back to the calf pen. Hurrying to catch up to the two men, HM nearly collided with Marny.

"Where have you been? You rushed out of here after lunch before Clive could catch you. He's had to run the ditcher alone this afternoon, and he's in a foul mood. You better eat, and then get out to the barn to help catch the calves for their exams."

"Exams?" HM knew it was too late. Clive was sure to notice there were six calves to examine instead of five. Usually he barely gave the pen a glance, and HM had been careful to keep Daisy tucked into the back.

"Yes. You have been in a daze for the last couple weeks, HM. Don't you remember Clive telling you about Dr. Callahan comin' in today? He told you he was going to need you all day."

"I'm sorry, Marny. I'll get out there now and help Clive and the Doc."

"That boy is gonna get his ass beat!"

Clive came storming out of the barn a moment later, and HM stood stock still near Marny, hoping she might temper Clive's temper – HM smirked as the play on words flashed through his head, even as the large farmer walked up to him and grabbed the front of his stained white t-shirt.

"You wipe that smile off your face, boy. I told you to take that little runt out and shoot her. What the hell is she doin' in my pen, spreadin' disease? Huh?"

HM felt his brow furrow. "Daisy ain't sick. She's been eatin' just fine. She's nearly as big as those other calves, now."  
"Well now two of them calves have scours. I thought you been watching them." Clive punctuated each word with a shake, his face getting redder by the moment.

"I have. They all ate fine last night . . . and this morning." HM racked his brain, trying to remember. He'd been preoccupied when he went to the pen, and admittedly he paid the most attention to Daisy. But the other calves had been lapping at their bottles. At least he thought they had.

Doc Callahan showed up and put a hand on Clive's shoulder. "That little heifer isn't sick, Clive, but we better quarantine those two others before they infect the rest. Why don't ya let the boy come back and help me?"

Clive gave HM a shove toward the barn as he released his grip. "You heard Doc, boy. And you better be mindin' your p's and q's, understand? We'll talk about your ability to follow instructions later."

HM followed the Doc meekly. In the pen, he picked up one sick calf, while the older man picked up the other. They walked them to a free pen at the other end of the barn.

"Go get a couple bottles, HM."

Returning in minutes with the requested bottles, HM helped Doc Callahan give the two calves water with electrolytes, then held them still while he administered a high dose of antibiotics.

"I think we caught 'em early enough. That should knock it out. I want you to do me a favor, HM, you keep a close eye on these two, and keep 'em hydrated. You did a fine job with that little runt in there. She's looking real good. I'll tell Clive that, too."

"But I wasn't watchin' the others as close as I shoulda." HM felt terrible about the two sick little calves. They looked miserable. How could he have missed it this morning?

"Listen, son, I seen calves turn in the course of an hour from a healthy little heifer, to a sickly pile o' bones. There just ain't much to 'em. This ain't your fault."

HM nodded. "Thanks, Doc. Unfortunately, I don't think Clive agrees with ya."

"You make sure them calves drink another bottle of water with the electrolytes, alright? I also want you to move the other four calves to a clean pen, and clean that pen where they been real good. I'll deal with Clive."

HHH

HM did as instructed. Clive came out and checked on them, nodding at HM mutely. They completed the evening chores in silence, and HM felt a building sense of doom waiting for Clive to lay into him about Daisy Mae, but the blow up never came. Clive and Marny went to bed without a word to their young charge. HM figured being screamed at would have been better. Morning chores the next day followed suit, with Clive offering nothing more then the barest instruction to HM.

HM kept his promise to Doc, and checked regularly on the two sick little calves, keeping them hydrated as instructed. One appeared to be getting better, but the other refused the bottle in the morning. Doc showed up after morning chores and shook his head.

"I don't think she's gonna make it, Clive."

Clive grunted in agreement and turned away without a word.

"Should I drench her, Doc?"

"You can try but I doubt it'll do much good. Buck up, HM – you done what you could. Some calves just can't fight whatever infection is causin' the scours." Doc turned to follow Clive.

HM spent the rest of the morning trying to get liquids into the little heifer, who seemed to go downhill before his eyes. The other heifer was much better, and HM took it upon himself to move her to another pen, close by but away from the sick little cow, just in case.

Marny came out a couple hours later and found HM sitting in the pen, cradling the little heifer in his lap, stroking her silky head. She was dead.

HM looked up at Marny sadly. "I couldn't get her to drink, Marny. I'm sorry."

Marny nodded curtly. "Come on up to the house and get something to eat. Then you can take her out back and bury her. At least the other calf seems to be getting better."

HHH

The mind-numbing routine resumed, only now Clive didn't speak to HM, except in mono-syllables. He also seemed to come up with all kinds of additional work, severely curtailing HM's afternoon fly time. It had been weeks since he sent in his application, and he was slowly losing hope. He had finally resigned himself to spending the next two years slogging through life on the farm, when Marny came out to where HM was working on mucking out the yearling stalls.

"Come into the house, HM. Clive wants to talk to you."

Well, that at least was something new. Clive had barely strung two words together directed at HM in weeks – ever since that calf had died of scours. In the house, HM cleaned up in the bathroom, and then came down to the kitchen. Clive sat at the kitchen table, and nodded to the seat across from him. HM sat down and waited.

Clive pushed an envelope across the table to him. "Why you gettin' something from the Air Force, boy?"

HM picked up the envelope with shaking hands. "I applied."

"Well, open it."

Slipping a finger under the flap, HM ripped the envelope open and unfolded the letter inside. He skimmed the letter, and felt his heart soar.

Re-reading the letter more slowly, he murmured, "I've been accepted."

The screech of Clive's chair being pushed back forced HM's attention back to the farmer. "Ungrateful."

He turned and walked out of the kitchen.

"Marny?" HM turned to the woman, who shook her head.

"You better go pack your things, HM. You can stay at the hotel in town."

HM felt like he had been slapped. "Did I do somethin' wrong?"

"Why didn't you even tell us, HM?"

Was Marny crying?  
"I figured you wouldn't care, and . . . I guess I was worried Clive would be sore. What else am I gonna do, Marny?"

"What about farming?"

HM stood and slapped his hands on the table. "I'd go crazy if I had to stay working on this farm for the rest of my life!"

Marny's shoulders shook. "Just go, HM. Get your things, and leave."

HM looked at the woman who, the entire time he had known her, had seemed unwilling to fill any sort of nurturing role in his life, despite allowing him into her home. Did he really owe Clive or Marny anything? He had done more than enough work on their farm to earn his room and board. His heart hardened as he realized that _that_ was really all they had ever wanted out of him in the first place.

"Fine. I'll go to the airfield and stay until time to go."

SSS

Sydney finished going through her check book, and the accompanying bills. She set down the pen and laid her head down on the table, allowing herself to wallow in a moment of self-pity, but just a moment. There just wasn't enough money for Sydney to continue to live near campus and pay for school, even with the student loans and work.

The phone rang and she picked it up with a distracted greeting.

"Hello, this is Syd."

"Hey, Syd baby. It's Mom."

Sydney sat up, remembering the other nagging worry that had been preoccupying her for the last couple weeks. "How did things go at the doctor's today, Mom?"

Her mother cleared her throat, and Sydney felt her stomach twist with anxiety.

"Well, sweety, the biopsy came back positive. I have cancer."

"Oh my God, Mom." Sydney couldn't think of anything else to say. Her mother had cancer. Her vivacious, beautiful mother really had cancer.

"It's alright, baby. The doc wants me to start treatment right away. Everything will be fine."

"I'm going to move back in with you, Mom."

"I don't want you to have to take care of me, Sydney."

"Mom, the scholarship isn't enough to cover room and board, so I wouldn't be doing it just to take care of you. It would save me money, too. It's a no-brainer."

Her mother was silent for several seconds, and Sydney spent the time coming up with more reasons why they should move back in together. She needn't have worried.

"Actually, Sydney, I should probably . . . move in with you. Your apartment is less expensive, and closer to the university hospitals, which is where I'll need to go for my treatments."

"That makes sense, Mom."

Sydney hung up several minutes later after laying out the bare bones of a plan to consolidate households, once again, with her mother. As the import of what had just happened finally sunk in, Syd allowed her head to sink back onto the table. Tears fell silently as the clear path that she had seen ahead of her was quickly swallowed up by the fog of uncertainty about her, and her mother's, futures.

SSS

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Wilson, but it appears that the cancer has spread. We are going to have to intensify the chemo, and I really think it would be best if we scheduled you for surgery."

"It's spread? How far?"

Sydney looked at her mother, the rainbow kerchief on her head a bright and cheerful contrast to the gray countenance underneath. Syd found herself sinking into depression at times already, with her mother's effervescent personality doused by the chemo treatments she had been undergoing. And they wanted to intensify it?

"It appears to have moved into the intestinal tract, but the intrusion is minimal. We want to remove the affected section of the digestive tract, and follow that up with intense chemo. We firmly believe we can beat it."

An hour, and a hundred questions later Sydney was bundling the wisp of a woman that was her mother into the car they had borrowed from their neighbor. Sydney had come to one certain decision over the last hour. After all, she had barely been able to keep up in her classes while nursing her mother through the previous treatments, and she wasn't even going to school full-time now.

"I'm quitting school, Mom."

"I forbid it, Sydney. This is your future we're talking about."

"It's just . . . temporary. Until you're better. Then I can go back."

Her mother's brilliant blue eyes fluttered open, reflecting an uncharacteristic weariness that tore at Syd's heart. Her mother heaved a deep sigh, and gave a sad, but accepting nod.

"If you promise you'll go back when I'm better."

"I promise."

HHH

HM half-heartedly joined his classmates in cheering as they were released after graduation. Two days ago he had thought everything was going his way. That was the day that Colonel Greene had made the offer to him – assignment to the Thunderbirds.

Second Lieutenant HM Murdock, Thunderbird. The idea had made his head swim with excitement, which was the excuse he gave himself for not thinking things through before saying 'yes.' Now, even with his diploma in his hand, he knew he was in trouble.

Greene had introduced him to the brass at the Academy earlier today, including the man in charge of the Thunderbirds. That was when he realized that saying yes to the assignment had been a huge mistake.

The intense commander had pumped his hand, and put a fatherly arm around his shoulders. "We have big plans for you, son."

HM remembered how his heart had swelled at the idea of being a special part of something like the Thunderbirds. "Yes, sir. I'm really looking forward to it, sir."

"We want to do a big retrospective on your life, trace your beginnings out in the great state of Texas to show what a young man can do when he's determined to serve his country."

"Re-retrospective, sir?"

"Yes indeed. Your story will encourage hundreds, thousands of young men to join the armed forces. We need more men like you, Murdock."

HM had felt his insides freeze as he realized that the assignment wasn't about flying, at all. It was about recruiting. When the commander started talking about a trip to Spur to interview his foster family, he knew he was in over his head. No way was he going to be able to keep his true age under wraps if that happened. No way in hell.

As he walked through the throng of people in front of the hall where graduation had been held, he was jostled by parents greeting graduating sons enthusiastically. Expressions of congratulations, pride and love surrounded him – like being awash in an ocean of emotion. But just like the real ocean, he couldn't drink it in. None of it was meant for him anyway.

"Well there he is!" HM felt a hand grip his shoulder, and turned at the familiar voice in surprise.

"Randy? I can't believe you came!" He engulfed the man in a bear hug, overcome by gratitude at not being alone.

"Holy shit, kid, you've grown at least six inches since ya left Spur."

HM shifted uncomfortably at the vague reminder of his age. "Yeah, I guess I'm just a late bloomer. What are you doing here?" There had to be some reason Randy had come all the way from Spur to Colorado.

"I'm here to see you graduate, HM. You sent me an invitation. Remember?"

HM felt himself tense at another unpleasant reminder of his past. "I sent Clive and Marny one, too. Didn't expect anyone to come, though."

Randy's smile seemed almost apologetic. "Yeah, well, Clive and Marny are awful busy on the farm – you know how consuming that life is. As for me, what else is an old flyboy bachelor gonna do? I had to come see my best student graduate – with honors no less." He slapped HM on the back, then wrapped an arm around his shoulders and added,"Your grandparents would be so proud of ya, HM."

HM had his own doubts about that. How would his straight-laced grandparents have felt about the lies he told to get where he was? And now the whole house of cards was threatening to topple. He shrugged, but couldn't muster a smile. He was too worried about the future, and he couldn't come up with any idea about how to get out of the mess he had landed in when he accepted the T-Bird assignment.

Randy squeezed his shoulders, and shook him out of his spiraling thoughts.

"C'mon, HM. Where can old man take his protégé for a celebratory dinner 'round here, huh?"

Half an hour later they were sitting down in a booth at the back of a quaint little Italian restaurant in Gleneagle. HM made small talk asking how things were going at the airfield, and Randy gave him all the latest local Spur gossip as they ordered and got their meals. As the waitress left another round of refills for the sodas, Randy set down his silverware and leaned forward, fixing his young friend with a questioning look.

"What's up, kid? You've hardly cracked a smile since we got here. I woulda thought you'd be bursting with all that's going on. I can't believe it myself. The goddam Thunderbirds, HM. That's gotta be a dream come true!"

HM nodded, but his expression remained sullen as he muttered, "Yeah, a freaking nightmare come true."

"What's the problem?"

When the kid looked up at him with those big brown eyes, Randy was reminded just how young he really was. Something near despair stared out of those eyes, and Randy reached across the table to squeeze HM's hand comfortingly.

"C'mon, kid. Talk to me."

HM pulled his hand out of Randy's grip and into his lap to join his other, playing with his napkin absently. Randy let the silence stretch. He couldn't force the kid to open up, he just had to hope that the trust he had managed to build with him back in Spur wasn't undone by the long absence.

"I'm in trouble, Randy."

"What kind of trouble."

HM met his gaze, shaking his head. "I never should have accepted the T-Bird assignment. They want to go back to Spur to do a 'retrospective' on my life. They only want me as a large-as-life poster child to recruit for the Airforce."

Randy couldn't understand why that upset the kid. "Of course. It's because you're young, handsome, and a damn fine pilot. What better poster child could they ask for?"

Leaning forward, HM's gaze turned hard. "The problem is that if they go back to Spur and start askin' questions they are going to find out that I lied on my application, Randy. Don't you see – it's a fucking disaster."

Randy sat back. He hadn't considered that. Actually, he had practically forgotten about it. "Tell them you don't want to do it."

"I did. They said I don't have any choice. 'This is the service that my country needs of me right now.' It's bullshit, Randy. When they find out the truth . . ."

"They'll ignore it, trust me, kid. The Airforce brass aren't going to want a black eye outta this either."

"I'm not so sure." HM sat back with a resigned sigh. "Maybe I should just go AWOL. Head up to Canada and become a bush pilot."

"That's not what you want to do, HM."

"No, it's not. But what choice do I have, Randy?"

"Ride it out, see what happens," Randy suggested.

"If I end up with a dishonorable discharge, where am I gonna go?"

"I doubt that would happen."

HM considered that silently for several seconds before continuing thoughtfully.

"All the T-Birds do is demonstration flying, anyway, Randy. Most o' those guys are combat trained, and have seen action. I'm just gonna be a wet-behind-the-ears token poster child. That isn't what I want, either. I want to see some action. I wanna make a difference."

"So tell them you changed your mind – you want to go to 'Nam."

"I have been informed that it's too late for that." HM's voice held a sour note.

Randy considered the kid in front of him. Obviously, the Airforce brass had decided what they wanted to do with him, and even more obviously, HM wasn't happy about it.

"So, you wanna see some action, huh kid?" Randy asked, arms crossed.

"Yeah."

"If you can hang in there for a week or two, I'll make some calls. See what I can do."

HM's eyes narrowed. "What are _you_ going to be able to do about my problems?"

"I got connections, kid. Before I was a back-country crop duster, I worked for the government, and there are some guys that owe me – big time. Just give me a couple weeks. I'll call in a couple markers."

The kids expression still looked wary. "Why would you help me?"

Randy shook his head and chuckled. "You know, HM, not every man is like your father. We aren't all deadbeats. I'm gonna help you because I like you."

HM seemed to accept that, though his brown eyes still held a certain guardedness that Randy didn't remember being there before. Maybe the kid had grown up more than he realized.

And if he hadn't, he was going to. He wouldn't have much choice once he reached Southeast Asia. Randy wasn't sure whether he was doing the kid a favor or signing his death warrant, but if it was what he wanted, then Randy could get him into the thick of the action.

HHH

"Randy sent you?" Murdock looked at the recruiter curiously.

"Yep. Said you were looking for something in the thick of the action. I can do that for you, kid. You must be one hell of a pilot to be in the T-Birds at your age."

Murdock had to squelch the automatic snort that threatened to escape. If the recruiter only knew at what age. However, Murdock had absolutely no doubts about his flying abilities.

"If it has wings or rotors, I can fly it. And I have to admit, while it's exciting to fly those tight formations in the jets, the T-Birds are just doing demonstration flying, and I was really hoping to see some action."

"Then the CIA is where it's at, kid, I'm telling you right now. And we need pilots for this Air America project in Laos. What do you say? I could have you on a combat mission within the week."

Murdock nodded slowly. Southeast Asia was where the excitement was. Laos should put him in the thick of the action, and that was what he wanted. Air Force, CIA – it didn't really matter to him, as long as he got to fly.

SSS

"Yes, I said remission. Your mother is officially in remission. We'll be continuing testing, starting once per month, but her treatments are over. Hopefully, for good."

Sydney looked at her mother, and met her warm smile with one of her own. The nightmare of the last year or so was over.

"That means it's time for you to go back to school, young lady. You'll have to tell that boss of yours that you quit."

Syd took a deep breath. "I'm keeping the job, Mom. Ross will let me work off-hours so I can head back to school full time, but with the scholarship gone I'm going to need the money."

"Fine, but you're still going back to school."

"Yes, Mother, I'm going back to school."

"As long as we're clear on that."

"Clear as crystal."

End Part 1


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Again, hopefully these section breaks are not removed when uploaded into FF. Sorry for the confusion.

This is the concluding part of _**Journey**_which takes the character histories up to the point where they first meet (in _**Falling in Love with a Lie**_).

Sorry about the confusion regarding this particular 'universe.' This is the first series that hasn't come to me in a linear time frame, and even I get them confused. At the suggestion of a reader (thanks, shadowwalker) here is a list of the stories in order from earliest to most recent in the overall story time frame.

Vietnam-era 'histories':  
_**Journey to Each Other**_ (Vietnam War is ramping up, but only the latter portions of this story are actually set in Vietnam - it is an early - life history of Murdock and Sydney)  
_**Shuai-Jan Sprouts Wings**_ (this one actually occurs somewhere in the middle of the second half of Journey, but is a stand-alone story of how Murdock came to be part of the Team)  
_**Falling in Love with a Lie**_ (The last scene in Journey is the same as the first scene of Falling, but from a different POV. This is the story of how Murdock and Sydney met.)

Post-Vietnam:  
_**Dark & Stormy**_ (a vignette related to the universe, set approximately 2 years after the 'end' of the war for the Team)  
_**Fatal Recall**_ (this is the reunion story, actually set post-season 5 in the A-Team canon)

Usual disclaimers regarding ownership.

Happy reading!

**Journey to Each Other: Part 2**

"You are fucking nuts. I'm not doing that!"

Murdock looked at his direct supervisor in this Laos cluster of a CIA project that he had ended up assigned to.

"You will do it or you're out."

"So kick me out. What do I care?"

The guy grabbed the front of Murdock's t-shirt and shook his other fist in his face. "Listen you fucking flyboy, I don't need this kind of grief from a kid whose so green he's sprouting salad. I said get in the plane and deliver these guns to the local militia."

"I talked to the militia in that village a week ago. They are not friendly, and they aren't going to use these weapons to help the war effort. It's insane to give them to 'em."

"You talked to them, huh? You a foreign policy expert, kid? You know the intricacies of the militia networks in Southeast Asia?"

"I've got half a brain, which is more than I can say for you. Giving that particular sect a weapons shipment is like signing the death warrants for a whole platoon of American grunts."

"Get on the fucking plane."

"No."

A man with wild white-blond hair stepped between Murdock and his CIA supervisor.

"What the hell is going on here?"

The voice held the ring of authority, and Murdock gave a satisfied smirk when he saw his supervisor's face blanch.

"Nothing, Special Agent Cheney. Just a little difference of opinion."

Cheney's eyes locked with Murdock's, and Murdock wondered at the probing gaze.

"What's your name, son?"

"HM Murdock, sir."

An amused smile curved the man's lips, and he put a familiar arm around Murdock's shoulders, leading him away from his fuming supervisor.

"Why don't you explain to me why you have an issue with this assignment, kid."

CCC

Senior Special Agent Isaac Cheney, or Einstein as he had been dubbed by his associates due to his resemblance to the famous inventor, had listened as the kid explained the intelligence he had gathered while doing the routine flying required of any Air America pilot. HM Murdock might be a lowly flyboy in his current position, but Cheney knew he was born to be an intelligence agent.

Still, Cheney was flummoxed. How Harlan Murdock's kid had ended up in Laos flying with Air America was beyond him. Last he had heard from Harlan's former partner, Colonel Hunt Stockwell was that the kid had pulled a quick one after high school graduation and somehow managed to get accepted into the Air Force Academy. Now, just over two years later Cheney comes across him in Laos, of all places, his official records indicating he's over 20. Cheney knew the kid had to be barely 18, and he'd been in Laos a few months anyway. It was crazy.

After some digging, and a couple lengthy discussions with Stockwell, he had agreed that it wouldn't be doing the kid any favors pointing out that his records were wrong. Stockwell had suggested Cheney pull him into the CIA proper, and train him personally. That, Cheney could do. If Harlan's kid was half as smart as the man himself, it should only take a couple months to teach him the basics of black ops.

HM obviously had a talent for languages, having already taught himself Lao and Vietnamese, as well as developing what appeared to be a basic understanding of the various local dialects he had been exposed to. Cheney could tell HM Murdock was his father's son. However, when he asked him casually about his father, Cheney had quickly learned that the son wanted nothing to do with the father. It seemed sad to the family man that Harlan's kid thought he'd been abandoned.

But Cheney wasn't going to be the one to tell him the truth – that his father died during a black op of which the CIA denied knowledge. He would leave that to Harlan's partner of the time. Stockwell seemed to feel responsible for the kid, anyway. Likely one of those dying wish pacts – most partners in deep undercover had them, if they were lucky enough to have a partner.

Cheney had never been that lucky, but he was looking forward to teaching the Murdock boy the ropes of the espionage game. If the kid was as much of a natural as it first appeared, Cheney figured he would have another significant asset to put to use. After all, the espionage game wasn't about people – it was about assets.

SSS

"I'm sorry, but sometimes the cancer does recur. I want to do some additional testing, but I think we're looking at another round of chemotherapy."

Sydney felt her heart drop. Glancing sideways, she tried to fix her mother's long, flowing blond hair and bright, alert blue eyes in her mind. She couldn't believe they were going to have to go through this again.

"Buck up, baby. We made it through it once – what's one more time?"

Her mother flashed her an impish grin, her indomitable spirit offering Syd a glimmer of hope.

"Doctor," her mother said, "Don't you have home health care that can help? My daughter is nearly done with school, and she's not going to have time to nurse me every second."

"Mom, I'll just take a couple semesters off. It's no big deal."

"It is a big deal, baby. Doctor, isn't there someone who can help?"

"Certainly, Mrs. Wilson. I'll have the nurse get you a packet of information."

Her mother's responding smile was serene. "Thank you."

CCC

"This isn't what I signed up for, Einy." HM Murdock sat on the floor in the corner of the med tent, long knees drawn up to his chin, brown eyes wide with shock.

Cheney watched his protégé, a worried frown creasing his forehead. As Cheney had expected, training HM Murdock in the basics of black ops had taken little time. Once the training was over, Cheney and Murdock had fallen into an easy partnership. But Cheney knew that Murdock, while good at espionage, particularly when it involved gaining the confidence of recalcitrant and wary foreign informants, wasn't good with the violence that was part of the more direct modes of obtaining intelligence.

He was particularly sensitive about the non-traditional targets of some of the operations. So Cheney, with his seniority, recognized the need to steer clear of such missions. As an asset, Murdock had his drawbacks, but his talent was undeniable when it came to enemy infiltration. He had even started building up Murdock's tolerance of the more violent aspects of the job.

But when Cheney had been called back into 'Nam, Murdock had been left at the mercy of general assignment. Unfortunately, others were much less understanding of the kid's sensitive side.

"There were women and children in that village, Einstein. There was no NVA outpost there. It was fucking senseless."

Cheney nodded. It had been a real cluster. In fact, the CIA was busy trying to cover their asses over this particular mission. If he didn't get the kid out of his current position, it was likely he would go down with the rest of the patsies that would be left holding the bag.

He put a hand on Murdock's shoulder. "I'll talk to a friend in the Army. We'll get you out of this, HM."

"I didn't sign up for killing fucking children, Einy." Dark eyes closed, tears tracing down a haggard face. "I can't do this."

"I know kid."

An hour later, Cheney was on the horn with Hunt Stockwell. A transition into Army Airborne should be fairly painless to wrangle between the two old spies. Cheney didn't relish the thought of sending the kid into 'Nam. But Stockwell had a more stable position at this point in his career, and was in a much better position to protect Murdock.

Even if he was in the hell-hole called Vietnam.

HHH

"Hang on, Petey! We're almost back to base!" Murdock glanced frantically at his peter pilot. The round had gotten him in the side, behind the chicken plate, and he was losing blood fast. Too fast.

"Heck, HM it don't even hurt." A cough, and red bubbles erupted from the kid's mouth.

_Focus, LT, get the bird back to base or Petey ain't the only one that's gonna buy the farm._ Murdock paid attention to flying as his head slid back out of the clouds. The high he had been on when they took off was long gone, and he could feel himself crashing. _Just don't crash the chopper, asshole._

Base appeared over the next ridge, and he whooped, "We're almost home, Petey. Just a couple more minutes."

He sat the chopper down, and turned to examine his peter pilot more closely.

"I need a medic up here, now!"

He threw off his own gear and ran to the other side of the chopper, tearing the door open.

"Hey, Petey, how ya doin'?"

"Great ride, HM but I don't think I'm up for an encore." Petey laughed at his own joke.

"You'll be back to cloud hoppin' with me before you know it, Petey."

Petey's eyes were glazing over. "I don' think so, HM."

Murdock watched anxiously as the medics checked his peter pilot over before carefully lowering him to a stretcher. Petey clutched at one of the medics and motioning for them to wait. He looked up at HM desperately.

"The letter you told me to write to my folks, HM, it's under my mattress. Make sure they get it, will ya? Oh, and the jacket in my locker – it's yours. You taught me everything I know 'bout flyin' – gramps woulda wanted it that way. Just don't get no bullet holes in it, huh man?"

"You're comin' back, Petey. You'll be fine."

"We gotta move him, sir."

Two hours later Murdock was finally done with the chopper, and the paperwork, and made his way to the med tent.

"I'm here to check on Lieutenant Lawrence Marshall. He came in a couple hours ago –"

"You're Lieutenant Murdock?"

"Yes. I'm looking for my peter pilot."

The nurse's eyes reflected pity. "I'm sorry, Lieutenant Murdock. Lieutenant Marshall didn't make it."

Murdock turned and walked out of the tent. Petey was dead. He was dead, and it was Murdock's fault. Flying high, like he was indestructible. He went to his bunk, numb. Lying in the bed, he made himself a lot of promises – first and foremost was, no more drugs – no dealing them, and definitely no taking them. Damn, did alcohol count? No, even he deserved one vice. Alcohol allowed.

Unfortunately, staying in Da Nang was going to be tricky if he was going to leave the drug scene behind. And he was resolved.

He was leaving the drug scene behind.

SSS

Sydney jerked awake as the El came to a stop, her brilliant blue eyes whirling in panic for a split second before she focused and looked up at the station sign. She sighed in relief – she hadn't slept past her stop. She slung a strap of her tattered backpack, held together with duct tape, over her shoulder, grabbed the handles of the brown bag that held dinner, and edged her way to the door past the few passengers who sat and stared in unseeing lethargy awaiting their own destinations.

Once outside the station, she slogged through the slush lining the sidewalk. At least this neighborhood was relatively safe. They had moved from Sydney's original near-campus efficiency about six months ago in order to make room for the hospital bed and other equipment that allowed her mother to spend more time at home, rather than at the cancer center. The change had meant more money going to rent, but her Mother's social security and Medicaid had finally kicked in, and they were, overall, probably as comfortable, financially, as they had ever been.

Three blocks later, Syd turned and trudged up the crumbling steps of a brownstone and pulled out her key to let herself through the door. She bypassed the elevator, as was her habit, and climbed the five flights of stairs to the apartment she shared with her mother. She slipped into the apartment silently, dropped her backpack just inside the front door, and placed her keys into the tray on the sofa table that lined the hall. She hoped her mother was napping. A glance at her watch confirmed that it was quite late, nearly 10 pm. She grimaced; she hated eating dinner this late, but it couldn't be helped.

Turning to her right, Syd entered the tiny galley kitchen. She turned the oven on, pulled out a baking dish, and extracted the to-go box out of the brown paper bag. She put the lasagna into the baking dish and placed it in the middle of the oven to heat it up. Next to it, she placed the tin foil containing the garlic bread. Pulling down two bowls, she split the salad from another container and poured Italian dressing over each sparingly.

From between the stove and the cupboard she pulled two trays and set them on the counter. She put napkins and silverware on each tray, along with the salads. On one, she placed a glass of cranberry juice, on the other a glass of water. She picked up the trays and headed across the entry hall to the living room.

She stopped short upon entering the room. Her mother was propped up in the hospital bed at a forty-five degree angle, blue eyes bright in a gaunt face, with splashes of color on high, broad cheeks. Her bald head was camouflaged by the rainbow-colored bandana, her favorite. Next to her sat a handsome man with dark brown hair. He wore a tweed jacket over a white button-down shirt, open at the throat, the dark hair on his chest curling out of the resulting 'v'.

She entered the room, and her mother enthused, "Sydney, you're finally home! I thought I heard you come in."

Catching a glimpse of a shoulder holster as the man pushed his chair back and stood, Syd approached cautiously, her thoughts spinning. She placed the tray with the juice on the rolling table and pushed it in front of her mother. The other tray she placed on a nearby side table next to an easy chair. Then she turned to address her mother.

"Sorry I'm late, Mom." She leaned down and kissed her mother's offered cheek. "I brought lasagna from Salvatore's. It's heating up in the oven."

Her mother waved her to silence. "Sydney, Mr. Burke from the Federal Bureau of Investigation came to see you, sweetheart. He's been waiting for some time. I thought you would be home around 8:30, like usual. What's kept you?"

"My relief on surveillance was late. It couldn't be helped. I'm very sorry you had to wait, Mr. Burke."

Syd quirked a curious eyebrow at the man, who held out his official identification for her to examine.

"That's quite alright, Sydney. I should have made an appointment, but I was anxious to talk to you, and happened to be in the neighborhood."

Sydney nodded in acceptance, and then looked down at her mother. "Mom, you need to eat."

Her mother lifted the glass of cranberry juice and grimaced. "Can't I have some coffee? I'd really prefer coffee."

Sydney took a deep breath. "I'll make you some decaf_ after_ you finish your juice."

Her mother pursed her lips, took a deep breath and downed the juice like a shot. Sydney suppressed a smile. She wouldn't have been surprised if her mother had plugged her nose. "There, now can I have some coffee?"

"Eat your salad." Sydney looked back up at Mr. Burke apologetically. "If you'd like to walk with me, we can talk while I'm making coffee.

Burke nodded and followed Syd into the kitchen. "I imagine you're curious about why I'm here."

"That's putting it mildly, Mr. Burke." She said as she put a new coffee filter in the coffee maker and began measuring the coffee out of the can. "Would you care for some coffee?"

"No thank you. And please, call me Harry. You know, your mother is very proud of you."

Sydney was exhausted and didn't feel like making small talk. "And I'm proud of her. That's not why you came to talk to me."

"No. Actually, you and I have a mutual friend. A Professor Lowell at CSU?"

Brows furrowed, she looked at Harry in surprise. "My criminal psych professor?"

"The same."

"I'm not sure I'd call him a friend, perhaps a . . ." She paused as she considered the shared acquaintance. Lowell was on her thesis committee at college, but he had done nothing but challenge her theories thus far. He certainly wasn't a friend. "He's more of an associate."

"Professor Lowell spoke very highly of you."

"Really?"

Burke chuckled. "Oh, I know Lowell can be a pain in the ass sometimes, but in my experience, those that he is the largest pain to, are also those he holds in the highest regard."

Sydney considered that, and nodded. "I suppose that makes sense. What does it have to do with your visit?"

"Well, the professor makes recommendations for potential recruits to our FBI office. Normally, we wouldn't approach you until after you graduated, but given your . . . circumstances we decided to make an exception. You are approximately one quarter from graduating with a master's degree in psychology, isn't that correct?"

"Assuming that my thesis defense goes well, yes."

"And you have also been working as a private investigator for the last three years –"

"Actually, I've been working as a PI for four years, since my second year of undergraduate." It was a stark reminder of the despair of her mother's initial battle with cancer. It had been a desperate need for money, as well as a certain level of flexibility in her work schedule, that had prompted her foray into private investigation.

As it turned out, she had a knack for it, and quickly became an indispensible part of the team at the office where she apprenticed. Now, four years later, she was seriously considering it as her career, even though she would soon have her master's in clinical psychology. The truth was that PI work held a certain amount of appeal to the adrenalin junky in her, offering those periodic highs that she was certain a psych clinic setting would never afford her.

"I wanted to let you know that if you applied now, I would make sure that you made it into our fall class at Quantico."

Sydney stared at the man. "You want me to apply to the FBI?"

Burke chuckled. "Yes, Sydney, that's the idea. What do you think?"

The timer went off on the oven and Sydney turned and pulled the lasagna and bread out. She took her time placing the food on the plates she had set out, trying to wrap her head around what he had said.

She finally turned and looked at him. "You say there's a fall class at Quantico – in Virginia?"

"Yes. If you apply now, I'll hand deliver your application to the brass in DC. That will reserve you a spot in the fall class."

The import of what Harry Burke was telling her started to sink in, and excitement began to lick along her nerves like a flash fire, just as her mother called from the living room, "Syd, honey, is that coffee ready yet? I drank all my juice."

She swallowed, consciously dousing the flames of her initial excitement. "I'm sorry, Mr. Burke –"

"Harry."

"Harry, there is no way I can go to Virginia now. My mother is in the midst of chemo and she needs me here."

"You don't have to come now, Sydney. The class doesn't start until fall –"

"Now, fall – I'm not sure it makes a lot of difference."

"Isn't there some family that can help your mother in your absence?"

Syd shook her head. "There's no one. It's always just been Mom and me."

Harry Burke considered her seriously, and Sydney reinforced her stated decision with a steadfast gaze. His lips thinned into a tight smile.

"I'm really sorry to hear that, Sydney, but I respect your decision." He reached into the breast pocket of his jacket, and held out a card. "Please, take this. If there's ever anything I can do help you out, or if your . . . circumstances change, please, call me."

"Thank you." Sydney took the card and tucked it into the back pocket of her jeans. "I really am flattered by the offer. I wish things were different, but right now, I just can't leave."

He took her hand in a firm shake. "I wish you the best of luck, Sydney. I'm sure that whatever you do, you will excel at it. Hopefully we'll see each other again sometime." He released her hand and bowed his head. "I can show myself out. Take care."

Sydney couldn't help but feel like her future walked out the door with Harry Burke. The bitterness that had become an almost constant companion since her mother's cancer recurred, threatened to overwhelm her, and it took a tight reign to keep herself from chasing after Burke and begging him to take her with him tonight. She wanted nothing more than to escape this dreary apartment, but her sense of duty to her mother wouldn't allow it.

She picked up the plates of lasagna, noting that the food was barely luke warm now. She walked into the living room and place one plate in front of her mother. The other plate she took to the easy chair. She pulled the tray onto her lap, and stabbed a forkful of salad.

"Did you make my coffee, sweety?"

"Oh, yes, it should be done. I'll go get it." Sydney set her tray aside and stood again.

"Sydney, where did that nice Mr. Burke get to? Did you offer him some supper?"

She stopped at the door to the living room. "No, Mom. Mr. Burke had to get home."

She came back with coffee a minute later, and finally sat down to eat her dinner, which was now cold.

"So, what did he want?'

Sydney looked up at her mother, as much as she wanted to, she couldn't lie to her. Years of conditioning precluded that option.

"He just wanted to talk to me about a job."

Her mother's smile beamed out of her pale features. "How wonderful, baby! Imagine, my daughter working for the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I am so proud of you, Sydney."

"Mom, I can't go to work for the FBI. I'd have to go thru weeks of training at Quantico, and after that, who knows where I would be assigned? I can't leave you high and dry like that. Especially not now."

Her mother got that familiar determined look in her eyes. "Oh, bull shit, Sydney. Don't blame me for your cowardice. Did he give you a card?"

Sydney pulled the card from her back pocket and held it out to her mother, who took it. "So you'll call him back and tell him you changed your mind."

"Mom, you heard the doctor during your last appointment. You can't live alone. Where would you go? Who would take care of you?"

"You let me worry about that."

Sydney felt tears prick her eyes. "No."

"Sydney Lynn Wilson, do not defy your mother."

"I'm not going, Mom. I'm not. You need me. You've always been there for me, and it's my turn to be there for you."

"For the last four years you have done nothing but take care of me, Sydney. That simply isn't how the mother-daughter relationship is supposed to work."

"But, Mom –"

Her mother interrupted, her gaze hard and earnest. "Sydney, if you walk away from this opportunity because of me, don't you know that you will break my heart? You might as well kill me right now, if that's why you're turning that nice man down. This is your chance, Sydney – you can't let it pass you by or you'll regret it for the rest of your life. And you'll resent me because of it. I couldn't stand that."

Syd knew her mother spoke the truth. But how could she walk away when her mother was in a fight for her life?

"Besides, Medicaid should be able to send someone in to care for me while you're gone. I may have to find a smaller place, so my SSI can cover expenses. The chemo hasn't been that bad this time around, anyway."

"You are such a lousy liar, Mom."

"You should call Mr. Burke back tonight."

"He just left, Mom. There is no point in calling him now. You need to eat."

"I will eat as soon as you promise me that you will call Mr. Burke first thing in the morning."

"I promise."

Syd watched her mother dig into her food with a relish she hadn't witnessed in several weeks. Her own stomach knotted with a mixture of apprehension, excitement and guilt as she considered her phone call to Mr. Burke in the morning, and everything that would come with it. She could feel the goofy smile on her face, and she felt overwhelmingly guilty about the nearly giddy happiness that was coursing through her.

She indulged in the elation, allowing it to drown the guilt, which she knew would worm its way back into her consciousness later. She was going to Quantico in the fall. And at the end of her 17 weeks of training she would be Special Agent Sydney Wilson – it had a nice ring to it.

HHH

Murdock's chest heaved as he dropped to the ground on the Nha Trang air base and closed his eyes. 20 klicks with Colonel John 'Hannibal' Smith's big, angry mudsucker Sergeant, BA Baracus, had just about killed him. A shadow moved over the sun, blazing overhead, and he cracked one blood-shot eye open to find Smith standing over him.

"On your feet, soldier. Now, we get to work."

"You gotta be kiddin' me," Murdock groaned.

"What was that, Captain?"

Lieutenant Templeton 'Face' Peck grabbed Murdock's arm, and pulled him to his feet as he hissed at him, "If I were you, I'd keep the wise cracks to a minimum."

Murdock clenched his jaw, counted to ten, and ground out, "Nothing, Sir."

Smith's icy blue gaze locked on his newest recruit. "What was that, Captain?"

Murdock snapped to attention. "Nothing, sir!"

"That's good. Now lose the pack. Three times through the course. Move it. Let's show the new kid how we do it gentlemen! Double time!"

With limbs that felt like lead, Murdock took up the rear of the line of men, headed through the obstacle course, chanting silently to himself:

_At least you get three squares a day, clothes, and a place to hit the hay. _

Murdock felt a grim, determined smile curve his lips at the inadvertent rhyme. Yeah, it had a nice ring to it.

_And as a bonus, you get to fly. Life could be worse. You could die._

The smile disappeared in the blink of an eye. Murdock stumbled and righted himself with a hand from Face. He flashed his newfound friend a tight, but grateful smile, as his thoughts flashed to another friend that had once mistakenly trusted him with his life.

_Sorry, Petey._

SSS

"Ms. Wilson, did you hear me?"

Sydney sat on her bed at Quantico in stunned silence. "But I just talked to her last night."

"Talking to you last night really seemed to make her happy, dear. You've always been her pride and joy. She talked about you all the time – about what a success you're becoming. Top of your class and all. She just didn't want you to worry."

"She didn't want me to worry?" Sydney let the phone slip from her hand as her world crashed around her.

LLL

"Where's Wilson?"

Snickers greeted the question, and Jeff Lytle, tactical instructor at Quantico, walked over to stand in front of the recruit who appeared to be generating the noise. "Alright, Penny, what the hell is so funny?"

"Just theorizing where our token female might have run off to. Maybe home to Mommy?"

The door had opened while Penny was talking, and Sydney Wilson stopped dead in her tracks. "Sorry I'm late."

Lytle looked up and took in the red-rimmed blue eyes set in the broad pale face. Something was obviously wrong, but at least she was here.

He cast a reproving look at Penny before addressing Wilson. "Have a seat recruit, and let's get started."

Wilson seemed to get back to her usual cool and efficient self as class progressed. He knew he wasn't alone among the instructors to admire the young woman. She was a scrapper, and dealt with the ribbing with a detached aplomb that he doubted any of the male recruits could muster. Unfortunately, some of the men had resorted to a little rougher than ribbing when it became apparent that Wilson was vying for the top spot in the class – a coveted achievement that won the recruit their choice of assignments.

"Tomorrow we will be discussing 'The Art of War' so make sure you come prepared."

Wilson was the first one up and started up the steps to the classroom exit. Penny stood just as she passed him. Lytle couldn't hear what he said over the scuffle of recruits gathering their things to leave, but whatever it was caused Wilson to snap. She swung around and punched him in the nose. Penny landed in an inglorious heap at the bottom of the steps, blood pouring between his fingers.

"Wilson, in my office, now." She spun and disappeared out the door.

Looking down at Penny, he toed the recruit, who took his hand away from his nose and glared at Lytle. "That bitch broke me nose! She doesn't belong here."

Lytle shook his head. "You deserved it at least a few times over, Penny. I'll be talking to the CO. You want to complain, go to him. We'll see who hits the street."

At his office, Lytle took a deep breath before pushing through the door. Wilson's pack occupied the guest chair, while she paced the small room. She rounded on him as he came through the door. "Penny's been asking for that since day one –"

"I know, Recruit Wilson. Please, take a seat."

"You mean, I'm not in trouble?"

"Hell, if you hadn't done it soon, one of your classmates might have become chivalrous and done it. Like you said, he's been asking for it . . . more and more loudly. Anyway, that's not why I called you in."

"Then why?"

"Not like you to be late to my class, Recruit Wilson."

She swallowed. "I'm sorry, sir. It won't happen again."

Lytle leaned back in his chair and heaved a sigh. "I'm not worried about that, I'm worried about you. What's up, Sydney? _Why_ were you late?"

Sydney's steady gaze was a little brighter than normal. Unshed tears, perhaps?

"I'm sorry I was late, sir. It won't happen again."

"You already said that. But you haven't answered the question." He held her gaze, and smiled sympathetically. "Out with it, young lady. You aren't leaving this office until I get a straight answer."

Her jaw clenched. "Is that how you talk to your daughters?"

Lytle chuckled. "I generally leave that to my wife, she's much better at getting the truth out of them than I am. Do I need to take you home and subject you to her ministrations? You might learn a thing or two about interrogation techniques."

A ghost of a smile curved Sydney's full lips. She looked back at him, and he could see her tight control over her emotions wavering. She grimaced, and her eyes tightened. Then her chin began to quiver. Lytle stood up and walked around the desk to crouch in front of the young woman. "C'mon, out with it Sydney. What's wrong?"

Her voice, when she finally answered, was barely audible. "My mother died last night."

He stood up and reached across his desk to grab the phone. He punched the button for the front office. "Laney, I need a ticket on the next plane to Chicago."

Sydney's voice stopped him. "No."

"What?" He turned and looked at her.

Tears tracked down her cheeks, but her voice was steady. "I'm not going to Chicago. It would mean throwing away everything I've worked for here."

"Uh, Laney, I'll call you back." He put the phone down and turned to face the young recruit. "Sydney, we'll hold your place. You need to go take care of your mother's personal affairs. And you need to give yourself time to grieve."

She shook her head. The tears were already beginning to dry, and he recognized the resolve in her eyes. "Her affairs have been set in order for some time, and I've spent the last year grieving for her. My mother wanted this for me, and I won't disappoint her . . . or myself."

Lytle leaned against the desk and crossed his arms. "Won't your family be expecting you home for her funeral?"

"There is no family, and Mom didn't want a funeral. She wanted to be cremated, and her ashes spread over Lake Michigan. The arrangements have all been made for some time now. Ever since the first round of cancer."

Sydney stood, and picked up her pack. "If that's all, Dr. Lytle, I have weaponry in 20 minutes and I still need to get something to eat."

"Sydney." Lytle placed a restraining hand on her arm. "If you need anything, even if it's just someone to talk to, please, all you have to do is ask. I can even offer my wife's services, if you're not comfortable talking to me."

"Thank you, sir. You're very kind. But really, I'll be fine. I have to be."

Lytle stared at the door that closed behind the young woman for a long time. With four siblings, a wife and five daughters he simply could not imagine living in this world entirely alone.

Not entirely alone. No, he had noticed that Sydney seemed to be friendly with Lee Zemekis. Perhaps he could enlist his help.

HSHS

"Cheney."

Stockwell looked at his former colleague searchingly as he sat across the conference table from him in the CIA conference room in Saigon. Despite the findings of the latest investigation into the drug and gun smuggling in Vietnam, he was inclined to be suspicious of the man. Cheney was damn good at what he did. Maybe even a little too good.

"Stockwell, you old spy. I hear you've been checking up on our favorite young pilot. How is Harlan's son faring as an Army flyboy?"

Stockwell leveled him with a probing gaze, and asked a question of his own.

"So, you haven't heard?"

"Heard what?"

"That Murdock got pulled from Nha Trang to help out with the smuggling investigation."

"No? Really? I didn't even know the kid was in Nha Trang. Last I heard he was up at Da Nang. Is he being pulled back into intelligence?"

Stockwell's eyes narrowed as he considered Cheney's innocent face. The response had been too pat. Cheney had known Murdock was investigating his involvement in the smuggling. And if he had known, he had time to cover. Damn.

"No. He's safely ensconced back at Nha Trang, working primarily with Hannibal Smith's unit, again."

Stockwell couldn't help the smirk that curved his lips. Safe, after all, was a relative term. He figured Harlan's reckless son was as safe with Colonel John 'Hannibal' Smith looking out for him as he could be in Vietnam. He was glad Smith seemed to have taken the pilot under his wing, even though he wasn't technically under his command.

The same general thoughts must have been running through Cheney's mind. "Hannibal Smith is a cowboy, but I hear he's damn good. I guess HM's as safe there as anywhere else in this god-forsaken country."

Stockwell nodded. "My thoughts exactly. Though Smith isn't his CO, he does seem to keep a close eye on our young Captain Murdock."

"_Captain_ Murdock? Well when the hell did that happen?"

Eyes narrowed again, Stockwell reconsidered his previous thoughts about Cheney's culpability in the smuggling operation. Had he really not known that Murdock received a promotion when he went to Nha Trang? Maybe Cheney wasn't as connected as he thought. Still, he definitely bore watching. Carefully.

Cheney sat back and shook his head. "The little bit I get through the grapevine is that they've dubbed him 'Howlin' Mad' because of his flying. I don't know if that's a good thing or bad, but you gotta admit, the kid has guts."

"Oh, I've no doubt that Captain Murdock has guts. And he's bright. But from what I've seen, he's not terribly stable."

"Given what he's been through since his dad was killed I think that's understandable, don't you, Stockwell?" Cheney leveled him with an almost-accusing gaze.

"We all make the best of our circumstances. And yet Murdock continues to push the envelope at every turn, despite the opportunities he's been given."

"You and I have a very different opinion of what constitutes an opportunity, Hunt. That kid was training at the AFA at an age when you and I were still chasing skirts in high school."

Stockwell pursed his lips. He hated to admit it, but Cheney had a point. It was easy to forget that HM Murdock was two years younger than his official record indicated.

It didn't matter at this point, anyway. The older he got, the less that two years difference would make. Stockwell was just tired of bailing the kid out.

LLL

"You wanted to see me, Dr. Lytle?"

Lytle looked up to find Lee Zemekis standing in front of his desk. "Yes, Mr. Zemekis. Please close the door and have a seat."

Zemekis looked like a muscle-bound jock, dark, compact, and powerfully-built but he had a scholar's mind. He was Wilson's nearest contender for the top spot in the class, but unlike some of the other recruits, he had chosen to befriend his competition rather than belittle her. Lytle had seen the two studying together on several occasions.

Zemekis sat on the edge of the chair, his expression studiously blank. Lytle admired his composure under pressure, knowing he had to be wondering why he had been called into Lytle's office. He didn't give him time to stew about it.

"I understand you are a friend of Sydney Wilson."

He looked surprised. "I suppose so. We study together quite a bit. Syd's kind of a hard person to . . . get close to, if you know what I mean."

Lytle suppressed a smile. He got the distinct impression the Zemekis liked the challenge.

"She does tend to be very independent. You are the one recruit I've seen her spend time with, and I was hoping that you might do me a favor."

"Sure."

Lytle took a deep breath. "Her mother passed away yesterday."

"Jesus, I didn't even know her mother was sick."

"Apparently she has had cancer for some time."

Zemekis looked disgusted. "No wonder she flattened Penny. It was about damn time, anyway." He straightened. "Sorry, sir, that was inappropriate."

Lytle shook his head. "I agree with you whole-heartedly, son. And you can drop the 'sir's."

"When is she going home to Chicago, sir?"

"She isn't, and that's part of what has me concerned. She is determined to stay here. There is apparently no family back in Chicago, and all the arrangements have been taken care of. She said that her mother would want her to stay."

Zemekis looked truly concerned. "She's staying?"

"Yes, and you know as well as I do that she doesn't have a lot of friends here."

"She's pretty isolated."

"She's going to need a friend, Lee. I know it's not an easy thing to be thrown into the middle of, but I've tried to talk to her, and she just clams up. I'm hoping you'll have better luck. I hate to have to call in psych. It could adversely impact her entire career, top of the class or not."

"I'll try to talk to her, but I'm not sure it will do any good. She get's weird when I even mention possibly going out for pizza or a movie. I doubt she's going to be real receptive when I offer her a shoulder to cry on."

"Is there anyone else she's close to?"

"There are a few of us that get together in study group, but I'm probably the one that's spent the most time with her."

"All you can do is try, then. I'd appreciate it if you kept this quiet. Let me know how it goes. If you can't get through to her when you talk to her today, I may just have to call psych and get them to intervene."

Zemekis' jaw clenched. "I don't want you to do that. Syd is very tough mentally. I think you should give her a chance to deal. You might be surprised at how well she handles this."

"She's just lost her only living relative."

"I understand that, but you said her mother's been ill for awhile, and no one here even knew. I'm telling you, she can deal."

Lytle sat back and considered the young man. "You do know that if she were to leave, you would likely take top spot in the class."

"That's Syd's spot. I don't want it by default, I want it because I'm the best." Zemekis sat forward. "I'll try and get her to at least talk about it, but it's not going to happen over night. Just give me a little bit of time to break through.

"I'll give you a week. Then I'm going to talk to her myself. If I don't see some sign that she has at least started the grieving process, I'm making the call."

HHH

Murdock gazed out at the ocean and patted the shoulder of the pretty young nurse sitting by his side. This was hardly the romantic evening Face had promised. In fact, it pretty much sucked.

She drew in a shaky breath and pulled away. Shining hazel eyes lifted to gaze at him apologetically.

"I didn't mean to fall apart like that. It's just that . . . I thought . . ."

She dissolved into tears again.

Murdock sighed. "It's alright. You aren't the first girl to fall for him, and I'm sure you won't be the last. But Face just isn't a committing kind of guy. If that's what you want, then you're gonna have to look to someone else." Like me, he added silently. Murdock smirked at himself - like any girl who had a load of the handsome lieutenant was going to give his goofy friend a second look.

A series of soft hiccups, and she looked up at him with a watery smile. "You're so sweet, HM. Why couldn't I have met you first?"

He gave her a logsided grin. "Well, when Face is around, most women don't notice anyone else."

Her generous mouth formed a thin line. "Well, he is handsome. But you have a very nice smile."

"So do you."

Her responding expression was inviting, and for the first time since this 'date' had started, Murdock thought maybe it wasn't such a disaster after all. He leaned down to kiss her. Her lip gloss tasted vaguely of strawberries, and she returned the kiss. But when he moved to make a more serious effort, she pulled back and put gentle fingers against his lips.

"I'm sorry, HM. I like you, but . . ."

Murdock sat back. Nope, the evening was still a categorical loss. "I'm not Face."

"I'm sorry." She stood and brushed herself off. "I'll see you around, HM."

He raised a hand in farewell as she turned and walked up the beach, leaving him alone by the water. For the umpteenth time of the evening he was reminded why he generally turned Face down when he offered to set him up with one of his off-casts, despite Face's assurance that the girl was looking for a 'relationship.'

Face just didn't attract the kind of woman Murdock was looking for.

SSS

Sydney walked back to her room in a fog. She knew in her mind that her mother had finally succumbed to the cancer that had been attacking her body for the last several years, but it seemed surreal. It had not really registered, yet, what that reality meant to her life. She walked through the doorway, leaving the door standing wide open, and dropped her book bag onto the bed, followed by herself.

She lay back and stared at the ceiling. She imagined this was how amputees felt – they knew their limb was gone, but it was such a part of you that your mind cannot accept the reality.

ZZZ

Lee walked into the dormitory and headed straight for Syd's room. She was the only recruit with no room mate, and had been given the one room on the floor with a private bath. He noticed that the door hung open, and broke into a jog. It wasn't like Syd to leave her door open.

Inside she lay stretched across her bed.

"Syd, are you alright?" He rushed into her room, pushing the door shut to close out any curious glances, and stopped next to the bed searching her for any sign of injury.

She sat up and looked at him blankly. "I'm fine. What the hell do you think you're doing waltzing into my room, Zemekis?"

"Your door was wide open, Syd. I saw you flat on your back and figured Penny visited to get even with you for flattening him this morning. Nice shot, by the way."  
"He was fucking asking for it." She launched off the bed and started pacing.

"I didn't say he wasn't. What the hell is up with you, Syd? You've been acting strung out all day. It's not like you."

"How would you know?"

He stopped her with his hands on her shoulders. "Come on, Syd, give."

She held his gaze. "You went to see Lytle after Self Defense class." Her tone was accusing. "He told you what happened."

He sighed. "Yeah, he told me your mother died. He's worried about you. So am I."

Syd crossed her arms and turned away from him, walking to the window. "Don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out, Lee."

"I'm not going anywhere. You just lost your mother, Syd –"

She rounded on him. "No shit, Sherlock. Any other brilliant observations?"

He considered her for several seconds before deciding that maybe she needed to be pushed, and pushed fairly hard.

"You know, you can be a real bitch sometimes. I'll give you the benefit of the doubt and call it the first stage of grief."

"The door is behind you."

He continued in the same matter-of-fact tone. "I said I'm not going anywhere. Lytle said with your mom gone that you don't have any family. Whether you believe it or not, you are going to need a friend, and I don't know if you've noticed, but you're pretty short on those, too."

He recognized the first cracks in Syd's composure, as her eyes brightened and her chin quivered. But her voice was low, and dangerous. "Get the fuck out of my room."

"No."

He crossed his arms and braced himself. Her chest was heaving, and her eyes reflected a muddle of emotions that made him feel oddly protective. Still, he knew from personal experience that she was anything but defenseless.

"Dammit, Lee, I didn't ask for your help."

That was when he knew he was going to have to hit her right between the eyes with the truth to get her to accept his help.

"No, and you never will, but you can't live in an emotional void for the rest of your life, Syd. Get a fucking grip and accept that you need a friend, because if you don't, Lytle's gonna call psych and your ass is gonna be out on the street. Is that what you want?"

She started at the mention of psych. A flash of vulnerability in her wide blue eyes made Lee move forward, despite his reservations, and fold her into a shielding embrace.

SSS

Lee's touch broke through her last defenses and Sydney's self-control collapsed in on her grief, imploding like a supergiant star into a black hole. Her knees buckled, and it was only Lee's strong arms that kept her from slamming into the floor. He lowered her gently and cradled her on his lap, making soothing sounds deep in his chest. Primitive, animal-like howls frightened her, especially when she realized that they were being torn from her own mouth. She gripped fistfuls of Lee's shirt and buried her face in his shoulder.

When she came back to herself, the room was dark. She stirred, still cradled in Lee's embrace, and felt him shift underneath her. His one allowance to comfort had been to move to the wall, so his back had some support, but otherwise, they still sat on the floor near where she had collapsed.

She shivered, and realized that his shirt was soaked through where her head lay. She sat up and looked up into Lee's face.

He smoothed a hand over her hair, and ran a thumb across her cheek. "Feel a little better, Syd?"

She bit her lip. She admired Lee, perhaps even liked him. She enjoyed spending time with him; matching wits with his sharp mind, arguing over the finer points of their classes. He challenged her intellect as none of her other fellow recruits could. But it bothered her that she had shown weakness in front of a man that for all intents and purposes was her rival.

She slipped off of his lap, suddenly self-conscious. "I'm fine. I'm sorry I lost it like that . . ."

"You needed the release, Syd. Don't apologize."

She reached out and touched his wet shoulder with a grimace. "Sorry –"

He caught her hand. "I said, 'don't' Syd."

She looked at their joined hands, curious that it appeared to prompt the dull ache between her legs. Unlike the pain that seemed to envelope the rest of her, this one was pleasant, and she found herself focusing on it, allowing it to overshadow all of the other chaotic emotions that roiled inside.

She looked up into Lee's intelligent gray eyes and imagined the feel of his body against hers. It had been too long since she indulged in the pleasure of a man's company. Her breath came in short gasps as she allowed her fantasy free reign. She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his, and felt his hand slide around her waist.

Lee broke the contact abruptly, his voice husky and uncertain as he pushed himself to his feet. "Sydney, what are you doing?"

Sydney stood too, his obvious reluctance to take advantage of the situation exciting her even more. The ache had become an all-consuming desire, and she was determined to satisfy it. She advanced on him. "I want you, Lee."

His breath hitched and he shook his head. "We shouldn't do this."

Her gaze slid down his muscular body, and she recognized the tell-tale bulge in the front of his pants. Despite his words to the contrary, she could see that he was as aroused as she was. She stopped inches in front of him, the heat radiating from his body fanning the desire that licked along every nerve. Her voice was low and seductive, "I know you want me, too."

He licked his lips. "Yes, but it isn't right." He pushed past her, and she growled in frustration.

"Fine, I'm sure I can find someone at the bar."

She grabbed her jacket, and started toward the door, but Lee had stopped in the doorway, his eyes wide with concern. "Sydney, don't. You're too vulnerable right now to be cruising the bar . . ."

ZZZ

Lee floundered to a stop when she pressed against him. God, she felt so good.

"I need this, Lee. Please, I want it to be you, but if not, I will find someone . . ."

He told himself that he couldn't allow her to seduce some stranger in a bar, but the truth was much more selfish. He wanted her, needed her, and the thought of going back to his room was intolerable when he knew she was so ready and willing.

He turned away from her and pushed the door shut, taking a few deep breaths to curb his runaway passion. If this was going to happen, he was determined to be in control.

He felt Sydney's small hands slip around his waist and wander up his chest as she pressed herself against his back. He locked the door, and took her hands. Breaking her embrace he turned back to face her.

He felt himself drowning in the liquid blue of her wide-set eyes. He cradled her head in one hand, using his tongue to trace her full lips, savoring the taste and softness before claiming them in a kiss. With his other hand, he cupped her butt, pulling her hips forward to press against him. His senses filled with her, and as her fingers tangled into his hair he realized that control was an illusion.

SSS

Murdock dropped onto his bunk and tried to get comfortable. He was frustrated and wired which wasn't a good combination for sleep, but he was scheduled for a day of ash and trash, starting first thing in the morning, and he knew he needed at least a few hours of rest.

"So, how'd the date go?"

Shit, Face was awake. He had lingered at the beach long enough that he thought his friend would be sound asleep. He should have known better.

"It was great, Face. Listen, I'm tired."

"Damn. What happened? Did you scare her off by asking about marriage right off the cuff or something?"

Murdock sighed. "No, I did not scare her off. For your information, she is still totally hung up on _you_. You gotta stop setting me up with girls that are still pining after you, Face."

"She told me she was looking for someone she could build a committed relationship with. I figured she was perfect for you. I mean, she really seemed to be looking for the whole M-R-S … thing."

"Apparently only if it's followed by P-E-C-K."

"I'm sorry, buddy. But listen, I know another girl –"

"Forget it, Face. From now on, I'll find my own dates."

"Yeah, right. Then how come it is, when I'm not setting you up, you just go to the bar and drink alone."

"I don't always drink alone –"

"No, sometimes Gravy and Ray are with you."

"What's your point?"

"My point is that you need to learn how to enjoy the company of a woman – even if you aren't going to tie the knot with her."

"I know how to enjoy a woman's company."

"The last time you hit it off with a woman, you turned her down when she made a move. That's not what I call enjoying her company."

"I wasn't interested in her . . . that way."

"You're too picky, Murdock."

"Just because I don't hop into bed with every woman I go out with –"

"Try any woman you go out with."

"What about Carla?"

"Carla? Oh my God, Murdock. Talk about disasters. You practically stalked her after that. You got so obsessive she transferred. Have you even heard from her since then?"

"No."

"You are approaching the whole male-female bonding thing way too seriously, especially given the setting. You need to lighten up and enjoy life, buddy."

Murdock pressed his lips into a thin line, staring into the darkness. Many of the women he had encountered at Nha Trang were interested in companionship for the same reason as the men – the distraction it provided from the stark realities they lived every day. Why couldn't he allow himself to indulge in that form of relaxation? Maybe Face was right.

He rolled onto his side and was confronted with the framed picture of his grandparents. It was a candid snapshot of them in the kitchen of the old ranch house, staring at each other, both smiling. He reached out and pulled the photo in front of him. Even though it was faded and tattered he recognized the devotion with which his grandparents looked at each other. That was what he wanted, and he wasn't willing to accept less.

Face was definitely wrong.

SSS

Sydney finished cleaning herself up and looked in the mirror over the sink. Her eyes were bloodshot, and with the ache between her legs satisfied, the rising tide of pain over the loss of her mother was threatening to overwhelm her, again. She splashed water over her face, the stinging cold distracting her momentarily. She took a shuddering breath, as she dried her face.

"Are you ok, Syd?"

Lee's voice washed over her, and she allowed the thought of his body hovering over her to reignite the aching need in her core. Surely he would be up for another fling, or two.

She sauntered back into the room, admiring Lee's stocky, muscular body stretched out on her bed. If she played this right, maybe it could last all night long – or at least long enough to tire her to the point of exhaustion. He propped himself up on an elbow and looked at her.

"Hey, love. Everything ok?"

With a start, she met his gaze. Love? The smoldering desire still alight in Lee's gray eyes made her smile. A euphemism for the physical act that allowed her to ignore the gaping hole that her mother's death had left in her life.

She moved to the bed and pushed Lee back against the pillows, swinging a leg over his hips.

"Everything is fine. Love me."

FFF

"He jes tryin' to live up to his rep – howlin' mad!" Sergeant Remington Gravois, or Gravy as he was known to his team mates, turned a mocking smile on Murdock and raised his beer bottle in salute.

"Hell, ya!" Murdock clinked his own beer against the cajun's with a responding grin. "Who wouldn't want another tour of duty in lovely, subtropical Vietnam?"

Face sat next to him, shaking his head. "You been here how long already?"

Murdock ground his teeth, but managed a nonchalant shrug. "What does it matter, Faceman?"

"I'm just saying . . ."

"That you'd like to get rid of me?" Murdock cocked an eyebrow at the handsome Lieutenant.

"I didn't say that."

"No, you implied it."

"It's just –"

"See, there you go, tryin' to get rid of me again. I thought we was friends, Face?" The hurt look on Murdock's expressive face was offset by a guardedness in his brown eyes.

"We are. Forget I said anything."

Face lapsed into silence and watched his friend down another beer. He knew Murdock was just hitting his stride. The tall, lanky man could put away his weight in beer and still almost walk. It was a sight to behold.

His thoughts turned to what he knew of HM Murdock – what had prompted him to question his decision to re-up. Based on what he had been able to unearth about Murdock before he joined the team, he knew the pilot had been in Southeast Asia for nearly four years by now. Why anyone would want to stay in this hell-hole for that long was beyond Face.

And anytime he broached the subject, or tried to talk to Murdock about his past, the guy shut down. Given that Murdock was probably one of his closest friends, he took the silence as a lack of confidence. Even though Murdock had been with their team for nearly a year now, he still continued with his 'independent modus operandi' as the Colonel put it.

Two hours later, Face helped Gravy get Murdock back to their barracks and pour him into bed. True to form, Murdock was singing some lewd ditty at the top of his lungs. Gravy threw up his hands and left Face to quiet the man down.

"C'mon, Murdock, it's o'dark thirty and you're gonna wake up the whole fuckin' camp. Shut up and go to sleep already."

"Hey, Facey."

Face grimaced. It was bad enough that he had this nickname, did Murdock have to add a 'y' to the end and make it sound so . . . girly?

"What, Murdock?"

"Hey, man. I didn' mean nuthin' earlier. Ya know? I jus' – I got nothin' to go back home to, Face. You know where I'm comin' from, don't ya?"

Considering the intense, pleading look in his friend's eyes, Face nodded. "Sure, Murdock. I know what you mean."

"You're the best, Face. Maybe, when this is all over, we can really get to know each other, huh? You know, stop hiding all the shit in our past that we're afraid to share? I got some fuckin' crazy shit in my past man." Murdock put one long finger to his lips. "Shhhh, don' tell nobody, 'k? Pinky swear."

Face hooked the offered pinky with his own, glad it was dark, and no one could see the juvenile pact. "Ok, Murdock. I won't tell anyone. I promise."

His friend dropped almost immediately into an alcohol-induced slumber. Face sighed and stood to get himself ready for bed. He was sure there were things in Murdock's past that were bad, but that was true of just about everyone on the team. Hannibal had a real talent for attracting their type.

But at times like this he wondered if perhaps the things in Murdock's past were really worse than most of them. Well, if he wasn't willing to talk about it, there was no way to gage. One thing Face knew from experience, though:

Everyone has to face their personal demons alone.

SSS

Lee rolled off of her with a sigh. "Now that is what I call a celebration."

Sydney swung her legs out of bed and padded, naked to the bathroom. The wetness between her legs didn't bother her while they still lay coupled, but once he got up, it felt cold and wet and after awhile, sticky. She cleaned herself up and walked back out to the room.

Lee was standing by the bed with a lazy smile, but it was his stocky, muscular body that held Syd's attention. She returned the smile, as she felt a slight tugging between her legs. She hadn't quite reached orgasm when he was done, and she felt dissatisfied. Lee usually could get her there, but today he had been very ready when they got to her room, and she hadn't even been luke warm. Just looking at him made her long for that release, but a glance down told her he was done, and she wasn't in the mood to go to the effort of getting him aroused again.

He held out his arms and she moved into them and gave him a quick squeeze around the waist before stepping away. He let go reluctantly. She felt a small pang of guilt at the hurt look in his eyes, but she was ready for her own space, and his desire to hold her for no apparent reason made her feel uncomfortable at times.

She grabbed her sports bra and pulled it over her head, and then found her underwear and slipped it on. She was just picking up her pants when she felt Lee's arms circle her from behind.

"What are you doing? We don't have anywhere to be. Classes are over. Graduation isn't until tomorrow. I thought maybe we could spend the rest of the day together, up here, just . . . enjoying each other." His lips teased her neck.

"What are we going to do?" The sex had kind of become part of their study routine, but now that the studying was over, she felt at loose ends, in all aspects of her life. She envied Lee his unwavering certainty in his future. She wished she had half of his confidence.

He chuckled at her. "Well, I was kind of enjoying lazing around naked with you. And, I have the list of assignment possibilities. I thought it would be a good idea for us to discuss our options."

She turned and looked at Lee blankly. "_Our_ options?"

He pulled her into his arms. "Yeah, _our_ options." He leaned in and kissed her. "In fact, I have a little surprise for you."

He let her go and walked over to his clothes, folded neatly on a chair. He walked back to her and held out a ring box. Inside, a large diamond winked at her.

"What is this?" She took the box and stared at the ring.

He moved closer. "What do you mean 'what is this?' It's an engagement ring, Syd. I want you to marry me."

"Marry you?"

Lee's smile was gentle as he pulled her into his arms again. "Yes, marry me. Spend the rest of your life with me. Have my children . . ."

Sydney's breath caught, and she watched as the smile on Lee's lips faltered. That smile usually melted her, but the possessive look in his eyes made her incredibly uncomfortable. What the hell was he talking about?

"You're acting like this is a huge shock, Syd. I thought you realized how I felt about you? I thought you felt the same way?"

Syd swallowed. "I'm not sure. I mean . . . I like you Lee –"

"You _like_ me? Syd, we've been sleeping together for almost two months. I went past the 'like' phase of our relationship awhile ago."

"But marriage is a big step, Lee. I'm just starting my career."

"All the more reason to make this official, Syd. Otherwise the chances of us being stationed together are pretty remote."

Sydney closed the ring box and handed it back to Lee. "But, I already made my assignment choice. I'm going to Vietnam. They posted an opening on a special task force. It sounded like a great opportunity."

"Vietnam? You have to be kidding me, Syd. You really want to go to Vietnam?"

"Yes."

"What about us?"

Sydney was sure her confusion showed plainly on her face, and she felt terrible as Lee's expression turned stony.

"I'm sorry, Lee. It's not that I don't care about you, I do. You helped me through the most terrible time of my life. But this is something I feel like I have to do . . . for myself, for my career. My mother wanted me to succeed in the Bureau – it was her last wish. And I know I can make a difference if I go to 'Nam."

Lee took a deep breath. "Were there two slots?"

Sydney pursed her lips. "No. There was only one slot. The assignment is only for a year."

Lee turned away, nodding. When he looked back, his gaze was determined. "Ok. So you're going to Vietnam. When you get back, just promise me we'll talk about this." He held out the ring box.

Sydney looked into his familiar gray eyes and just couldn't bring herself to tell him 'no.'

"Ok, um, it's just . . . you caught me by surprise, that's all."

His face softened into a warm smile, and he pressed the ring box into her hand. "Why don't you keep this? It's my promise to you, Syd. I'll wait for you to come home. I'm not going to pretend I understand why you want volunteer to go to hell on earth, but I'll be here when you get back."

She accepted the kiss and the ring box with no further argument. She was too shocked. She had never thought of things with Lee lasting beyond their training time. She was already committed to the Vietnam assignment, anyway, and part of her was glad. She wasn't sure she was ready to contemplate a lifetime as Mrs. Lee Zemekis. She wasn't ready to contemplate a lifetime as Mrs. Anybody at this point.

The assignment in Vietnam should allow her just the immersion she needed to ignore the shambles of her personal life and focus on her job and career.

SSS

Syd sighed as she felt Viola Greene's hand on her shoulder. She had been in Vietnam for nearly a month, and her big accomplishments thus far were nothing to write home about – in fact, they were almost embarrassing. It had taken her two days just to convince the FBI liason that she was, indeed, a special agent, and not another typist for the secretarial pool. Mission one accomplished.

Then, Peter Quinn, the man who was her boss in Vietnam, had asked her if she was up for a special undercover assignment. She had been thrilled – until she learned that she would be posing as a show girl in the USO. How much action was she going to see as a show girl?

She had been fuming over that for the last two weeks, as they made their way up to Nha Trang, where the target of her investigation, a Captain HM Murdock, was stationed. She still didn't have a clue how she was going to 'get close to him' as Quinn had put it. First, she had to find him in the crowd of men that attended every USO event. She figured that would be a challenge in and of itself.

Vi leaned down and hissed in her ear, "Get up, Sheila. I have someone I want you to meet. I think he might be right up your alley."

Syd stifled a groan. Vi seemed to think it was her mission to get the shy and withdrawn Sheila Downey of Texas, Sydney's cover persona, to date every nameless soldier they came across. Vi's sexual addiction was becoming a real pain in the ass to her hapless bunk mate.

"Vi, no, I don't –"

Viola grabbed her arm, pulled her up off the piano bench and swung her around.

There, standing in front of her was a familiar young man – tall, dark hair, intelligent gaze – the pictures in his file hadn't done him justice. Captain HM Murdock was handsome and his easy grin was infectious. She smiled back as Vi introduced her to her target.

"Captain HM Murdock, old-fashioned guy meet Sheila Downey, old-fashioned gal. She just joined us in Saigon. She's new in country. Originally from the great state of Texas, just like you."

She held out a hand and his large hand engulfed hers in a firm but warm grip. She grinned stupidly at him as she greeted him. "It's nice to meet you, Captain Murdock."

His smile was enough to make her feel a little weak in the knees. _Get a grip, Syd, this man is your target and you aren't a freaking teenager._

"Murdock, um, you can just call me Murdock."

She bit the inside of her cheek, and managed, "Murdock, please, call me Sheila."

Syd realized with a jolt that they were standing there holding hands. Murdock seemed to notice it at the same time, and dropped her hand hastily.

"S-sorry about that."

That was when it dawned on her that he was as nervous as she was. _Snap out of it, and focus, Sydney. That's what you came to Vietnam to do, remember? Focus on the job, and stay away from personal entanglements – you just don't do them well. Remember Lee? _

Focus on the job. Focus. She smiled warmly at Murdock. Her target had been far easier to find then she could have hoped for. Now, she just needed to reel him in – and keep herself from inadvertently descending into another ill-fated relationship. She had a feeling that was going to be tricky as she looked at the intelligent, handsome man in front of her. She always had been a sucker for an intelligent man.

Hell had never looked quite so appealing.

*** The end of this story, and the beginning of the next: _Falling in Love with a Lie _:)***


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